Marcher
by WookieeTheCookie
Summary: "The most important thing to know about the Free Marches is that we're free. We determine our own destiny, and that pleases us" How does a young noble girl from the Free Marches turn into the woman destined to lead the inquisition to victory?
1. Chapter 1

_"The most important thing to know about the Free Marches is that we're free. We determine our own destiny, and that pleases us"_

Laurel Trevelyan

She was named for a flower and by the look of her, you could see why. She held beauty, but like the flower she also held a secret. Under the pretty petals lay a strength and a deadly poison if you dared to cross her.

Born in 9:12 on the 30th day of Drakonis to a Bann, she was the only girl in a brood full of boys. She was the last Trevelyan child, born 4th. To her parents, this meant no choice of fate. As the youngest, she was the "sacrifice"; their gift to the Chantry. It was Trevelyan tradition, long-standing in the line. Regardless of personal feelings or wishes, it was her responsibility to serve the Chantry in whatever way her parents would decide. The oldest was to be the heir and the youngest the servant. It was that simple. Except that it wasn't.

For the first time, at least in "recorded" history, a last born Trevelyan dared to defy her parents. Laurel suspected there had been more like her, but they had been conveniently left out of the record books, or erased from the family tree. She might as well have defied Andraste herself the way her parents had reacted. They were devastated. And angry, she'd never seen them so angry. For years she dreaded the name day she would turn 18 and be forced into a life of boredom. It wasn't that she wasn't religious, she was! But she knew that she didn't belong in the Chantry. It was just not the fate that was chosen for her by Andraste or the Maker or whatever was out there pulling on mortals' strings. So the day before her name day, she told them. She told them she would not be joining the Chantry, that she wouldn't be forced into a life she didn't feel she belonged in, whatever the consequences. Her parents were upset to say the least. She wasn't sure if they would have the heart to disown her, if she would be allowed to stay, or if they would drag her to the Chantry kicking and screaming. Whatever the consequences, Laurel knew in her heart that it would be better than the celibate life of a Priest or the flat life of a Chanter. That couldn't be her.

Gared, her closest brother in age and bond, had become a Templar. She had confided in him over the years, the only person she could truly share her feelings with. Gared was the one to suggest the possibility that maybe she could have a choice and not join the Chantry. He had always been concerned with her happiness and safety. Though he would not say why, he had one request. Whatever decision she ultimately made, he had made her promise never to consider the path of a Templar. Gared had been a part of the order for 4 years now, enough time for Laurel to know he must have had a good reason to keep her away. Ever her protector, he had stood with her that day while breaking the news to their parents. He'd gotten permission to leave the Ostwick circle for a few days, able to convince his superiors he was desperately needed at home. Gared certainly had a way with words, usually able to sway the opinions of even the most stubborn. A skill that was particularly useful on that name day. Once again he had saved Laurel, able to convince their parents that her decision didn't break tradition. Technically he was the youngest son and one of the youngest Trevelyans, and his life was already dedicated to the Chantry through the Templar Order. He convince them he had already fulfilled their commitment to the Chantry, leaving Laurel free to pursue another life. But what life was that?

Laurel found it quite easy to figure out what she didn't want for her life, but she had spent so much of it so certain she was headed for doom and unhappiness that she never thought about what she actually did want for it. She was a noblewoman. If she didn't join the Chantry, she knew what the next expectation of her would be: a marriage. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so boring, not nearly the same as the Chantry would have been. And there could be certain perks to look forward to if she could at least find a man handsome enough. It certainly didn't take long for her parents to suggest the idea. By the time her 19th name day came a year later she had been forced to attend nearly 40 parties, almost a dozen suitors had been invited to the Trevelyan estate, and she had been in 2 short-lived courtships, all her parents doing. She had already disappointed them once. Sweet Andraste, she wasn't about to do it again! She knew it would be time to make a decision soon, but no one had really shown much promise, no one was quite handsome enough, interesting enough, charming or witty enough. Not until that day.

It was the day of the Grand Tourney, the Marches' most celebrated event. Laurel had attended each year, and every year she looked on in envy and excitement as each participant competed. Her parents would _never _allow her to do something so improper for a lady, but that didn't sway her determination to one day compete, even if in a small event. She had learned a few fighting skills, mostly by following her older brothers to their lessons, but her parents had tried to make sure her training was very limited. She always followed Gared on the days of his lessons, and he always encouraged her. She believed if her parents had known the extent of her skills that they would have been quite shocked and probably quite angry. After all, they had groomed her for a nice, proper life in the Chantry. Her oldest two brothers Adam and Caleb had a tendency to pick on her when they were younger. Gared would always step in and incur their wrath upon himself and Laurel was determined to be able to defend herself one day. She would never forget the day in the stables Adam had crossed her once more and how he left with a bloodied nose. It was her first of many victories. Over the years she had learned how to fight, how to use a sword and daggers, and a bow. The only real skill her parents would actually let her practice openly was her archery.

The day of the tourney, Laurel made her decision, this was it; she was entering a tourney contest today whether they liked it or not. She'd done so many bold things over the past year. She was feeling brave and she was determined to experience this once before she'd be bound to some boring Marcher noble who'd no doubt feel the same way as her parents about the behavior of a lady. That morning she dressed in a simple brown coat made of bear skin and put on an old cowl she'd bought from a dwarf selling things out of a trunk. Before breakfast she slipped out of her tent unnoticed, guessing it would take until the afternoon for anyone to notice she was gone. After purchasing a bow from an out of the way stand, she made her way to enter the archery event. It wasn't her favorite, but she was quite good at it and it was the safest bet. Her parents didn't watch the archery displays and she could come away without any evidence in the form of cuts or bruises. Her thoughts were _what they don't know won't hurt them, right?_

She approached the registration table. A large burly man with black greasy hair and a long burn scar across his cheek sat at the table with a quill and paper. He barely glanced up from his paper when she approached. Laurel froze, was she really doing this? He finally grew impatient with her silence and looked up at her with a look of sheer annoyance.

"Name and event?"

Shit! She hadn't thought of that, they announce each contestant's name, she couldn't register with her real name. _What they don't know won't hurt them, remember_.

"Are you deaf or dumb or a bloody mute? Name?"

She thought of something quickly, "It's..um..Lora". Well that wasn't very original she thought.

"And is Um your first name or your last name? Or am I safe in assuming your first name is Lora and you've forgotten your surname?"

'Um' wouldn't work would it? No that's stupid. Something else. She took a deep breath as she thought of something. "Yes, my name is Lora…ga…it's Lora Gareth and I'd like to enter the archery tournament."

"Oh really, I couldn't have guessed that from the large bow on your back. Next!" _What an arse_.

It was an hour until the first qualifying event. Laurel made her way to practice field. _Time to break in the new bow_. Laurel couldn't believe what she'd just done, what she was doing. It was quite liberating but also terrifying. She had no idea how she would answer if she were caught. She drew her first arrow from the quiver on her back, ready to take aim. "Lady Tevelyan?" a voice questioned just as she released her fingers from the string. Her arrow was sent veering off to the left, far from its mark. _Maker's balls! _She tried to look away, focusing on loading her next arrow, pretending the name was not her own. But again she heard her name. Laurel glanced up pulling back her cowl to see who spoke her name, but it wasn't a face she was familiar with. A young man stood at the next target leaning with both hands on an upright bow with its end dug into the dirt. He was quite a striking man. He was handsome and tall, the type of sculpted face she'd only seen in paintings or statues before. His smile was large and warm and a little bit crooked and his teeth were well taken care of. His hair the color of chocolate with a slight curl. Dashing and well dressed, obviously a noble, but also a bit rugged and unshaven. He was attractive to say the least. She noticed her gaze was starting to linger.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

He chuckled. "Ah, apologies! We haven't actually spoken before, m'lady. I've seen you before, at a party once. In Wycome. I never worked up the nerve to speak with you and introduce myself."

He didn't seem like the shy type. "Well now is your chance." she teased. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name. May I know yours?"

"Of course." He smirked. "Oliver Carnwell. Just a minor Lord of Wycome. You've probably never heard of me."

It was true, she had never heard his name before. But the Free Marches were large and she'd only been to Wycome a few times in her life. "Well, Oliver, I do apologize, but you quite startled me when you said my name. Although I am _obviously_ not doing a very good job of it, I was trying to disguise myself," Laurel admitted as she laughed at herself.

He looked intrigued. "And Lady Laurel, why would you be disguising yourself? Hiding from someone?'

"My family. I've entered the tournament and they would not approve. I suppose I was silly enough to think a cowl and registering under a false name would protect me," she said as she looked down towards her feet.

"Well m'lady, I admit I may have stared a bit longer than I should have when I saw an attractive young lady standing at the next practice stall. I'd been there for a few minutes before I determined where I'd seen you before," he almost too eagerly admitted.

_Was he trying to flirt?_ She looked up from her feet, biting her lip, trying to hide her growing smile. "Oh, then I suppose my ruse may work after all if I can just keep the lechers from staring."

He laughed. "Not a word I've ever heard myself called before, but I suppose I deserved it. I'll take my leave m'lady and let you practice since I seem to be such a distraction," he chuckled pointing at her arrow in the dirt. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, turning her way with a grin. "I do hope we meet again, perhaps on the games field. Maybe your arrow will find its target more easily, or perhaps I can use my charm and good looks as a distraction again."

_Oh he is a charmer, isn't he?_ Laurel couldn't help but let out a giggle. "Well Lord Carnwell, if you distract me too much you may end up with an arrow in your arse."

He let out a bellowing laugh. "Lady Tevelyan, I'd be honored to be shot in the arse by you if you swore to help me nurse the wound." He began to walk away and turned back again. "Please do find me again after the competition."

"Perhaps I will" she said.

And that was it, the first time she met Oliver Carmwell.


	2. Chapter 2

Fifth place. Laurel supposed it could have been worse. At least she'd hit the target each time. Despite her… distraction. And she was the top woman competitor. That had to count for something, right? The day was a success regardless. She'd conquered a fear. And the day wasn't really about winning for her at any rate.

She admitted to herself that there was yet another entity she wished to conquer before the day's end. Oliver Carnwell. He'd made an impression upon her on their first meeting. She had never found herself so drawn to a man. She hadn't made it quite far enough in the competition to face him at the targets, much to her disappointment. She'd watched him face his opponents after her elimination, and wondered if she was as big of a distraction for him and he was for her. He'd finished the competition placing third, high enough to earn a small prize and receive a notable mention.

It was just before noon when the competition was done and the area began to clear out. Laurel knew she needed to return to her family's camp soon to avoid suspicion, but she had not yet caught Oliver. She wondered if he was really as intent on their meeting as he had seemed. She couldn't leave without at least catching his eyes, just to make sure he saw her and had a chance to find her if he desired.

Her eyes searched the crowd for the curled chocolate hair. She had just seen him near the winner's circle talking with the other winners, but he had already gone. Perhaps their encounter had just been a passing flirtation. _A shame really, I rather liked him_, she thought to herself. As she turned to exit the field she looked back just to be sure she hadn't missed him. It was then that her feet betrayed her and led her straight into a sturdy mass causing her to fall hard to the muddied ground.

"Shit!" she swore as she attempted to push herself out of the mud. She was covered from head to toe.

The mass in her path had a hand. It reached to help her out of the muck. "Looking for someone m'lady?"

She looked up. It was Oliver. _Of course it's him_. "Well, it looks as though the only thing I've found myself is a mud bath and a bit of shame and embarrassment."

"Here I thought you only needed practice at the bow, but it looks as though you could benefit from walking lessons as well," he couldn't help but laugh as he pulled her from the mud. She was quite a sight. "I do apologize for knocking you off your feet," he said with a wink. He offered a handkerchief that she willingly took.

She laughed at herself as she wiped the mud from her face. "You asked me to find you after the competition and find you I did. I just had my own way of going about it." Her face turned to concern as she assessed the situation. "I'll never be able to sneak back to camp like this, I'll leave a trail of evidence."

"Not to worry Lady Laurel, my camp is close," Oliver motioned towards the North camps. "You can use one of our tents to clean up. One of my associates might even have a coat or a dress that will fit you."

It was in the opposite direction of her family's camp. She gave him a teasing smile. "I suppose you seem trustworthy enough, at least for a lecher. No funny business, or you might get that arrow in the arse I promised you."

"No funny business, on my honor," He laughed and began to lead the way.

"You said your associates?" she questioned. "You're not here with your family then?"

He was a bit taken aback. "No, I'm not. My parents are probably the only people in the Marches that don't attend the Tourney. And I think if they did attend I'd still prefer the company of others. I have a brother." A frown formed on his brow and his tone became bitter. "He's too busy kissing my father's arse and waiting for his seat of lordship to concern himself with such things as a Grande Tourney." He was looking at his feet, ashamed of his outburst. "If you couldn't tell, we…well… we don't get along. I travel with… friends."

"I see… friends are nice." She'd made it awkward, a special talent of hers. "I didn't mean to pry, I merely wondered whose tent I'd be imposing my muddied self upon."

He looked up, dismissing his anger and smiling once again. "I wouldn't dream of luring you into any tent other than my own dear lady."

She found herself laughing once again. "Don't forget, I said no funny business!"

His grin didn't seem very convincing.

* * *

><p><em>Maker's Breath! What have I done?<em> It was already early evening. Laurel was sure her parents had sent out a search party by now. Probably alerted the authorities. _My face is on a wanted poster by now on some Chanter's board!_ She had to go and she had to do it quickly.

"I don't normally do this, I swear!" she exclaimed as she sat up from the bed, looking around for her under things.

Her handsome bed mate was turned on his side, his face was smug as he watched her in her frantic state."Not that you'd believe me if I told you, but neither do I," Oliver said.

He had to be lying. He probably did this all the time. "My parents have probably been looking for me for hours. I'm sure they think I've been kidnapped." She hurriedly slipped on her trousers dried with mud and searched for the ties in the back to tighten her top. "I don't know how I let you seduce me so easily Lord Carnwell," she said with a laugh.

"Oh!" he acted surprised. "I thought you'd seduced me Lady Trevelyan. You did ask for my help with the mud."

"Fine! We seduced each other. Although I'm not convinced you didn't have this whole thing planned out when you pushed me into that puddle," she said smartly.

Oliver rose from the bed with a laugh and stepped into his trousers. He fetched the borrowed coat he'd brought her to wear, holding it out for her to slip on. Laurel smiled up at him as she turned to put her arms through. He took the opportunity to tug her closer and turned her to face him. He had to kiss her again.

"I do hope you enjoyed the mutual seduction as much as I did. And I hope it hasn't put you off. I would like to see you again. We can take it more... slowly next time," he hoped to persuade her.

They'd only known each other for a day. She had never bedded a man so quickly. Her first time was with a boy she had known her whole life. The next man was one of her failed courtships, she had at least known him for a few months. The next was Oliver. And this time felt unimaginably different than the others.

"Oliver, I have to go." She had no idea what her parents would have to say when she finally returned. She tried to think of what excuse she would use. She felt like a harlot and if they found her they'd probably think the same.

"Let me write to you. Or perhaps I could pay a visit to Ostwick." He said as if the idea had just popped into his head. She gave him a questioning look. "I'm serious, what we just had, we can't let something like this slip away. I'm sure we both depart in the morning, I don't want to let this go."

She laughed."Write to me? After that you want to write to me?" Regret was starting to set in, she couldn't look him in the eyes. "We barely know each other and I jump into bed with you. You don't think me a...well...a tart?"

He grabbed her by the chin, tilting her head up towards his face so that their eyes met. "Never m'lady," he said softly as he kissed her once again. "I know this was," he searched for the words, "...special. And we can change the 'barely know each other' part. I'm a great pen pal," he said raising his eyebrows as he smirked.

"I really have to go Oliver." She turned away to gather the rest of her things save the still mud soaked coat she'd worn to the competition. She considered his request for a moment, looking back just before exiting the tent. "I can at least say that I promise not to turn away any messengers. Whether I read their messages will be a matter up for debate."

He chuckled. "Of course you'll read them."


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver sat near the window of his quarters. He was renting a room in a small tavern in some dirty backwoods town near the Western border of the Free Marches, trying to stay hidden. He had papers spread in front of him on a makeshift desk he'd constructed out of a few crates and a board. He always left his things strewn about. Not a very good habit for an assassin.

Contact had been made. He had found his way in with the family. The target's daughter. Although things had not went exactly as he planned. He had muddled things a bit, but it wasn't like he hadn't had a few_ inappropriate trysts_ during jobs before. Sometimes in his line of work you had to mix business with pleasure to complete the assignment. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty this time. Something about her...

He pushed it out of his mind. Now was not the time to start having a heart. He had a job to do just as he always did. This was all about just pretending to have a heart until his opportunity to strike. He already passed the information on to his leaders, now all there was to do was wait for his invitation. His instructions were to kill the Bann...quietly. None of the family were to be harmed, and no evidence was to be left of the guild's involvement. He chuckled to himself wondering if what he'd done to the daughter qualified as harm. He felt the strings of guilt pull again. Had he crossed a line this time? He let his mind wander. The few days since he watched her go, he had thought of Laurel too many times. He didn't want to admit how much he actually had enjoyed being with her. Usually he was better at separating his feelings from his work. This job may turn out to be a bit trickier than most. _Maybe I should write her?_

...

It had been two weeks since the Tourney and Laurel's parents still had her under guard. Supposedly they were her "escorts", but they made her feel like a prisoner. Her parents were disappointed in her, just as they always were. Yes she was 19, technically an adult, but they said they had to protect her. She suspected it was more so their reputation that needed protecting. It apparently wasn't proper for a young noblewoman to walk about anywhere unescorted, even her own home. If any letters arrived for her, they weren't being passed on.

She decided it was time to make a compromise with her parents. She would attend Chantry daily as a repentance if the guards were called off. It was enough to satisfy them. Unbeknownst to her parents, Ostwick's Chantry often served as a meeting place for Laurel and her closest brother Gared. It was a place they were both freely allowed to go. As a devout Templar serving the Chantry, Gared was expected to attend often. They would do a little chanting and praying, then lag around together for the rest of the afternoon. She hadn't seen him for nearly a month when she finally stepped into the Chantry courtyard and recognized the back of his head. His sandy blonde hair was always an object of jealousy for Laurel with her mousey brown. He was bent before a Priest receiving a blessing. He had been gone for weeks on a mission searching for a rumored apostate and when his party returned he had heard of the escorts traveling with his sister.

He stood from his blessing and turned around to see Laurel smiling widely at him in greeting. He shook his head with a laugh walking toward her. "Well, sister, I wasn't sure if I would ever see you again."

"Come now, isn't that a bit dramatic?" she said acting hurt as she took his arm and lead him on a walk about the courtyard.

Gared rolled his eyes and gave her a smug look. "So, what have you done this time?"

She made a sound as if she were offended with her mouth gaping. "Who says I've done anything? Maybe our parents are just lunatics."

"Oh that goes without saying." He laughed. "But an armed escort? You had to have pissed them off. What did you do, Laurel?"

"Well, I may have disappeared for a day and competed in an archery contest, and people of note may have seen me and recognized me. You know, no big deal." She said matter-of-factly. She was looking down at her feet as they walked, arms crossed and holding her braid in one hand, brushing the ends on her lips. Her nervous tick. "They were just about to post a reward for my return on the Chanter's board when I showed up."

He shook his head. "Why am I not surprised? At least tell me you fared well in the competition."

"I wish I could say I had," she snickered. Laurel wasn't sure if she should tell him the rest, but if she couldn't talk to him about it there was no one else. "I did meet someone though," she said coyly.

Gared stopped dead in his tracks. He was protective over his sister. If there was a new man in her life he had to know everything about him. "I expect a full report on this fellow. Would I approve?"

"Would you ever approve of anyone, Gared? Besides, I haven't even heard from him again. I suspect my messages may have been kept from me during my punishment," she divulged. "Maybe someone could convince Mother and Father to let me have them? Tell them how I was a good little girl at the Chantry service?"

"Information first," he insisted.

"Only if you have a pint with me," she said with a grin. It wasn't often that she convinced the ever proper Templar to be seen in such a shocking establishment as a tavern.

He laughed. "Fine, have it your way, but only one."

...

Three letters had arrived for Laurel. Two were from Oliver, the last one was written only two days ago. He was equally as charismatic in his letters as he was in person. He was charming and polite and engaging. And he wanted to see her again.

A letter arrived for her parents as well. Oliver's parents had written them, requesting that their son meet their daughter. _He was a young man of 24 soon looking for a wife_ they'd said. This wasn't an unusual letter for them to receive from other noble houses hoping to find a match for their sons. She was surprised, wondering if he had reconciled with his parents for just this reason. Laurel of coursed accepted, trying not to seem too eager in front of her Mother and Father. He was to arrive in two weeks.

...

He received his reply. The letter he had written pretending to be the parents of "Lord Oliver Carmwell of Wycome" had worked. He had been invited to the estate and would travel to Ostwick soon. Oliver couldn't help but feel a small ping of excitement mixed with guilt.

He had continued to write Laurel, the daughter of the Bann. The letters he had received from her were delightful and entertaining. He told himself the correspondence was all just part of the ruse, and that he needed to continue it to ensure suspicions didn't arise. Still, the line between real life and pretend was becoming too blurred. He needed to get her out of his head, he was becoming too attached. He was an assassin, a cold blooded killer. He had never failed a mission, the guild always trusted him to complete the job without question. Especially jobs of this nature, those requiring discretion. He knew when he saw her he would only become more confused. He turned to the drink that night, as he often did in his times of stress. This time he couldn't fight the craving.


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver sighed at his table in the tavern, a drink sitting before him. It was only the early afternoon but he was already drinking. He stared down at a half empty pint, trying decide if he would need another to make it through the night ahead. It had been months of putting on a charade, a charade that was becoming less and less an act. He'd never had an assignment of this nature, one that took him so deep for so long. He was an assassin. Most of his jobs were quick. A few days, in and out, someone was dead and he and the guild got paid. Simple. This wasn't simple, it was becoming increasingly more complicated. His assignment wasn't even to kill anymore, that part had changed. What he was doing now was even more devious. He'd kill to... well...kill something! This job was changing him...she was changing him.

...

Laurel stood in front of her wardrobe, grimacing at the gaudy gown hanging on its front. She was being forced to wear the ghastly thing that night. Her mother had picked it and it wasn't even remotely her taste. She preferred more simple and plain clothing, the type that made one blend in, not stand out. This dress was too bright and too fussy and sure to draw attention, which was most definitely unwanted. It had a corset and worse a petticoat, making it even larger and harder to maneuver in. She remembered a time when she would have loved to have such a gown, but the whole thing seemed so superficial now. Not worth the discomfort. She opened the wardrobe to reveal the mirror on the inside door, stepping back to look at herself, scrutinizing her flaws, evaluating her beauty. Her hair had grown long and dark, less mousy than before. She admired it now. She was glad that she could at least do her hair and face the way she liked tonight. Her mother always tried to convince her she needed a servant to do it for her but she much preferred doing things herself. _Mother probably has servants that wipe her arse for her_, she chuckled to herself. Laurel walked over and took a seat at her dressing table, picking up a brush and sliding it through her hair, catching tangles all the way down it. She looked in the mirror as she turned her face side to side, deciding how much makeup it required. She would keep it simple as she usually did. _No reason to add clash to this ghastly dress_. She wondered what Oliver would think when he saw her. She imagined he would probably laugh.

Since his first visit, Oliver had stayed in Ostwick nearly every other week to continue seeing Laurel, returning to Wycome for brief business and a visit with his family here and there. He kept his promise to take things more slowly and they hadn't slept together again after that first day they'd met. Her parents had taking a liking to Oliver as well, charmed as much by him as she was. She remembered a month or so into the courtship one night her father had called Oliver into his study. She knew it was time for the "intentions" talk. They stay in there for hours. When they emerged, they seemed to have a new found understanding. Having been properly screened by her father, she felt confident it was safe to let her feelings blossom. They had gotten to know each other well over their courtship. Things seemed perfect for the most part, though there were times Oliver seemed to withdraw from her, but he always came back.

The year was at its end and the time had come for the celebration of First Day. As title holders of the city, the Trevelyan family was expected to attend Ostwick's gathering to commemorate the past year with its people. The highlight of events was the First Day ball they would attend that night. Everyone of importance would be there, including the Teryn and other Banns of Ostwick. That meant Laurel had to be on her best diplomatic behavior. So she had to wear the big fancy gown because everyone else did, she had to present herself as poised and polished, and be an absolute master of etiquette. It was exhausting, but she knew how to play the part well. Her parents had made sure of that in her upbringing. They had always wanted her to pursue a life in the Chantry, but before even that, she was the daughter of a Bann and expect to behave as such. There were times she tried to fight it, but she knew how to turn it on when the occasion required. This year was the first year Laurel actually had anyone to accompany her to the ball. She knew Oliver's knack for charm would work to her advantage tonight. The ball would be one of the first big social events she and Oliver would attend together. Laurel looked forward to that aspect of the night. She felt her heart leap just a bit as she thought about seeing him, as she sat in front of the mirror now patting rouge on her face. It would help her through the night to have someone by her side to secretly snicker with her at the more lofty nobles in attendance. She laughed at the thought of the ridiculous costumes some of them would wear, her awful dress would probably be one of the more conservative ensembles. Her Great-Aunt Lucille would undoubtedly be one of the most garish of the lot, she certainly liked to go all out when it came to parties.

Oliver was again in Wycome, but was supposed to arrive in Ostwick just before the start of the festivities. Just as Laurel finished pinning her hair she heard a knock on the door. She opened it to find a messenger on the other side handing her a letter. It was a note from Oliver. It said he would be delayed and that Laurel should go on to the ball without him. She was disappointed but would indeed still attend alone, just as she always did. She had hoped to have a bit of protection with her beau at her side, but she would have to do without one. Now she was dreading the night. Without an escort, she didn't have an excuse to turn down the endless dance invitations that would come. The men who asked her to dance were always old and unsightly, or if they were handsome they were completely insufferable and far too grabby.

After attempting to don the gown alone, Laurel finally surrendered to the dress and called a servant in to help her, ordering the elf not to tell her mother she'd ask for help from one of them. She was finally properly adorned and outfitted, so with an exasperated breath she left her chambers to meet her parents and her brother Adam in the lower foyer. Gared would unfortunately not be in attendance since the circle didn't usually let the Templars or mages leave for such things, but her two oldest brothers Adam and Caleb would be there. They weren't as fun as Gared, but they would have to do in both Gared and Oliver's absence. Caleb was married and would arrive with his wife, but Laurel and Adam would accompany the Bann and their mother and be formally announced with them.

The Trevelyan's arrived and were announced as they entered the ballroom. Every year was the same. _Blah blah blah, title title title, wave and smile._ Laurel could barely get through the archway of the entrance before the first invitation came. She felt like she did nothing but dance with unpleasant company while faking a smile the first few hours of the party. Her cheeks and her feet were both starting to ache. At least there was the wine to keep her company. Although she did have to be careful. She knew her parents were watching over their shoulders keeping an eye on her intake. _They take the bloody fun out of everything_, she thought rolling her eyes. The night was beginning to wear on Laurel. These type of occasions thrilled her when she was younger, but now she only felt alone in a room full of people and completely out of her own skin. She was about to begrudgingly accept yet another invitation when she finally saw Oliver appear through the back entrance. She apologized to her fellow guest and excused herself, trying not to sound so relieved to be rid of their company.

Oliver waited near the back, he looked handsome in his dress tunic. As she walked closer she noticed something wasn't quite right. He looked a bit uneasy. He wasn't at all himself. She was concerned.

"Oliver, what's wrong?" she asked with her brow furrowed. He looked almost ill. "Are you well, do you need to leave?"

"I think perhaps I do. Some air might help." he admitted with a sigh. He was distressed about something. And sweating.

Laurel looked back at her parents, they were engrossed in their own affairs for once. "I don't think anyone will notice if we've gone." She motioned him outside and took his arm. They walked together out to the gardens, the music and laughter of the party now muffled behind the garden doors. The night air or perhaps the quiet seemed to have an immediate calming effect on Oliver, he was at least a little less agitated. She had never seen him this way. He was acting strange.

"Tell me what's wrong," she pleaded.

"I...I'm just not one for parties," he sighed. She suspected that wasn't it. He was worried about something. She had known from their first meeting that he didn't like it when she pried so she left it alone. Whatever had delayed him had been upsetting. "Let's just go somewhere quiet together," he said wrapping his arms around her waist.

"We _ARE_ somewhere quiet together, halfwit." She said with a hiccup and a laugh, noticing now that the wine had gone to her head. "Sorry, I think I've let myself get a bit tipsy."

He pulled her close and kissed her, giving her a look she couldn't discern, but his mood had changed. He was amused with her display of drunkenness. "Somewhere more private then. Your place isn't far," he said raising his eyebrows, "and it's probably practically empty." His smile was devious, like the smile he had given her back at the tourney many moons ago when he promised "no funny business." Oliver was back. She wasn't sure what changed but maybe he finally wanted her again, at least she hoped he did. It had been many long months of courtship with no reward, it was time for some funny business.

Laurel and Oliver left the ball unnoticed. When they arrived the manor was empty just as predicted. Even most servants were allowed to attend the First Day celebrations, so staffing was at a minimum. Oliver lead her up to her quarters, he knew exactly where he was going and what he would do when he got there. He pushed Laurel against the door and kissed her before they went inside. Before the door even shut behind them, the lovers began madly peeling off their clothing, as if it would burst into flames if it they couldn't take it off fast enough. The look on Oliver's face was still strange, it was desperate. He had never kissed her with such purpose.

The elaborate gown Laurel was forced to wear didn't make things easy, Oliver couldn't wait for it to come off any longer. He pushed her to the bed with her petticoat still remaining. He lifted the skirt and touched her between her legs and took her exposed breast in his mouth. Just like before, this wasn't a part of the plan. She let out a moan as he touched her, she was already ready for him. He had been with her before, but it was different now. There were feelings involved. He let himself get too attached, but he didn't care tonight. It would be over soon and he had to have her once more before it all ended. He couldn't hold himself back any longer, he slid himself inside, wrapped himself in her warmth. He was making love to her, this wasn't just sex, perhaps for the first time for him ever. He finally admitted to himself that his feelings for her were real, that he loved her. But she would never know. Because he loved her, he had to leave. Tomorrow he would try to say goodbye, but tonight he was letting go.

...

Laurel awoke in the morning in her bed alone, only the horrid dress she wore the night before crumpled on the floor to keep her company. She knew Oliver couldn't have stayed, but that didn't keep her from feeling a bit disappointed at waking to his absence. Their night had been passionate, it was amazing, but something still had not seemed right when he'd left. She needed to check on him, try to get him to talk, to make sure everything was alright. Something had upset him before their rendezvous and he was still thinking about it after.

Whenever he stayed in Ostwick Laurel knew Oliver stayed in the same local tavern. He didn't feel it was proper to stay at the Trevelyan estate and he didn't know any of the other families of Ostwick. She made an appearance at the breakfast table in the morning, attempting to nurse a headache caused from the wine the night before. She left in the late morning to find him, taking the long way to admire the plant growth on the city's walls as well as avoid the Chantry.

It was before noon so the tavern was quiet when she arrived, most of the drunks from the night before had gone home or staggered to their tavern beds, though a few could be seen still passed out under the tables. One stout old drunkard was still hanging on though, singing Maker knew what in the corner, griping his bottle and his seat. He'd be on the floor soon. The barkeep knew her, this was where she snuck pints with Gared. He pointed her to Oliver's room, where she found he was out. She questioned the barkeep, he hadn't seen him return at all that night or in the morning for that matter. She convinced the housekeeper to let her into his room to wait for him to return.

Laurel had never actually been in his quarters before, had never seen how he kept them. She walked around inspecting the room. He didn't have many personal things. No nick-knacks or tokens, no mementos from home. There were a few pieces of clothing thrown on the furniture, some boots were sticking out from under the unmade bed, and there were several candles on the desk burnt almost to stubs. She thought he must have stayed up nights reading or doing business. Laurel couldn't help her curiosity. She walked over to the desk to have a closer look at it, there were papers strewn all about. She looked around the room nervously, he definitely wasn't here. Biting her lip with a grin, she sat and picked up a few pieces of the parchments and began reading Oliver's letters.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurel read the parchments over and over, hoping the words on the pages would transform if she just read them differently. That they would have a different meaning if she only looked at them more clearly. They didn't change. The letters said what they said. She clutched the papers in her hands wrinkling them, shaking, afraid to admit what they meant. Afraid to admit what she had fallen for. She felt naive and small, a silly little girl. She had allowed herself to be used. To be violated. Oliver had deceived her, and worse her father was involved. His name was signed on some of the letters she held in her hands. There was even a contract. Laurel sunk to the floor, dropping to her knees with her back to the door, she couldn't even cry, only stare at these damned letters. She sat and just waited, nearly comatose. When would he walk through the door? What would he say? What would she say? Would he kill her right there? She didn't care anymore. She wanted to die right there on the floor. He'd be doing her a favor ending it right there. She didn't know who the man even was.

It felt like hours had passed when the sound of a turning lock finally hit her ears. Oliver was returning to his quarters, unsuspecting of what was waiting behind the door for him. By the time the door crept open Laurel had begun pacing the floor becoming impatient of the wait, still clutching the parchments and unwilling to leave the room before she could confront him.

"Laurel? What are you doing here?" he was surprised to walk in to see her standing in his quarters.

Her back was turned to him and she was silent, she stood in the center of the room with her arms crossed. Laurel turned to face him, but she couldn't bring herself to even look at him. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. She stood clutching papers in her hands, saying nothing. The letters he'd left out were in her hands. He stood there still griping the door handle, afraid to say anything. He swallowed hard and tried to find the words, but he couldn't. They both remained silent, both staring at the floor for what felt like an eternity. Laurel finally looked up, finally releasing the letters letting them drop to the floor. Oliver met her gaze.

Laurel looked at him wide eyed, staring her demon in the eyes for as long as she could stand. She shook her head, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, trying to keep her composure. She would not cry in front of him.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice quivering. He had no reply, he only swallowed, afraid to speak. She walked over to the desk leaning over it, looking at the papers that still remained on its top. She repeated herself, this time her voice raging. "Who are you? Who the fuck are you?" she screamed as she swept the remaining letters to the floor in one enraged motion, knocking the chair at the desk across the room. She took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure once again. "Why have you done this to me? Why did I deserve...?" Her voice broke. She gripped the sides of the desk shaking her head. She was still trying not to cry, beginning to shake from her anger.

"Laurel, please just listen," he bellowed, walking towards her with a pleading hand raised reaching for her. He stopped himself, careful not to get too close. "Give me a chance to explain." he begged.

"Oh I will _listen_! You _will_ explain! I will hear _everything_!" she growled as she turned from the desk glowering at him. She stared at him, hands clutched at her sides waiting for her demands to be met. Waiting to hear his answer.

Oliver hung his in shame head again. He loved her, he didn't want it to happen this way. He walked further into the room and took a seat on the end of the bed, burying his head in his hands. He was ready to tell her the truth. He raised his head, rubbing his face from forehead to chin, trying to think of what he could say, how he could explain everything. "Laurel I'll tell you everything. Anything you want to know. But first know that I do care for you."

She scoffed at him, shaking her head and crossing her arms. "That's a laugh."

"I swear it," he pleaded in desperation, praying she would believe him. He was ready to admit all of it, every last sin. "It started off as a job, as a game. But...I fell for you," he confessed, his voice cracking. Laurel said nothing, just listened. Once again looking away, hugging her own body and a hand raised covering her mouth. He continued, as calmly as he could manage. "I'm sure you gathered what I do. I'm an assassin. I work for the Argon Guild, we're mercenaries, assassins, bards. Everything I told you about my family was true, just not my name. My family disowned me. I was a drunk and a womanizer and a petty criminal, by the time I was 17, I was living on the streets. When they turned me away, I joined the guild, they recruited me. The guild used me for my title, my knowledge of nobility. I used it to gain entry into parties and noble households across Thedas. Most of the time I was just there to steal jewels or gather information. It took a few years but they eventually trained me as an assassin, trained me to kill by whatever means was necessary for the job. Poison, a dagger to the heart, an arrow shot from the shadows. I was a heartless bastard." He shook his head at his own words. He was ashamed, he never thought she would have to hear this. "I was sent to kill the Bann, to kill your father."

"And what in the Void did that have to do with me?" she demanded.

The way she was looking at him now, with hate, it stung worse than any poison ever could, but he had to go on. "You were my in. I followed you that day at the Tourney. Our spies knew your family would be there. You were the first person I saw leave the tent. But I didn't expect you to be..well...you! I didn't plan to sleep with you that day, I was only supposed to befriend you or one of your brothers. It just... happened! I tried to convince myself it was all just a part of the game, but it wasn't." He gave her a moment to take in what she had heard so far. She remained quiet while the blood drew away from her face, she turned away, her ability to look at him wavering again. He knew what she was hearing would only get worse. "Your father, he knew almost from the beginning why I was there. Months ago!" She turned to look at him for a moment in disbelief before turning away again. "He knew my parents, he had met me as a boy and recognized me, he knew what had happened to me and there were rumors of who I was working for. That day he called me into his study, he laid it all out on the table. Instead of killing me or turning me in to the guards, he offered to pay the Argon Guild to break the contract and allow him to hire me for his own purposes." He swallowed hard, waiting for some kind of reaction, some kind of response. Laurel just stood there, stoic and unmoving., perhaps too shocked to move.

Several moments passed before she could muster the strength to speak. She looked at him once again, only for a fleeting moment. Her voice was hoarse and low and her lips barely moved. "What purpose?" She wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

"H...He...He asked me to...continue our courtship." The words were beginning to burn his throat as they crept out. They felt like daggars scraping his insides. He wished they were. "He didn't say why at first, he only asked me to act as if nothing had changed." It was getting harder still to continue. "A month ago, he finally told me what he wanted from me. He wanted me to hurt you somehow. To break your heart. He didn't care how. He just wanted you to change your mind, to run to the Chantry. He said it was what you were meant for and he'd be willing to do whatever it took to get you there of your own free will. He thought maybe if I left you heartbroken, you'd get the idea of love out of your head, that he could make his move to convince you to join the Chantry. That you would give up a secular life, see that you were supposed to be a bride of the Maker not a man."

Laurel was dizzy, weakened by what she was hearing, she had to sit. She dropped to the floor, holding her stomach trying not to vomit. "That's what this is about?" she roared. "The fucking Chantry?" Her mind was racing, searching for a way for all of it to make sense. Is this really all she meant to her parents? Still their precious sacrifice, still a piece of property to be tithed to Andraste? _Fuck Andraste!_

Oliver stood from the bed and went to her side, crouching beside her reaching for her hand. "I don't understand why, Laurel. I just know I couldn't follow through, I can't do what he has asked of me. I don't want to hurt you any longer."

She snatched her hand away and stood up, looking down at him and hitting him across the cheek with the back of her hand. "Then go to him," she demanded. "Go to him and tell him you're done with his charade and then leave! I never want to see you again. And tell him I know everything."

...

Laurel shoved her way through the doors of the tavern, trying to catch her breath. Was this really happening, was what just happened real? She leaned on the wall for a moment wiping sweat from her brow, looking for something. _The bushes, I need the bushes!_ She leaned over the shrubbery, expelling all the contents of her stomach, feeling no better. She imagined many a drunk had used these bushes for the same purpose. She wiped her mouth, staggering away. She had only one place in mind to run. She had to find Gared.

It was Saturday, he wouldn't be at the Chantry today. If he were, Laurel didn't know if she could bring herself to step foot inside its walls. She had never wanted less to do with the blasted place than she did at this moment. Today was usually reserved for Templar's physical training at the Ostwick circle. She headed to the circle's sparring grounds where Gared would likely be leading a few recruits. When she reached the grounds they were empty. The trainers and their charges had just broken for their midday meal and were gathered in the mess hall. She swung the door of the hall open, clanking it against the wall loudly. A few heads turned in her direction at the sound, but the room was too loud and too crowded for most of the room to take notice. Laurel couldn't find Gared's face in the crowd and she begun to panic. As she turned to leave, a strong hand gripped her arm. Gared had seen her right away and rushed to her. If she were here he knew something must be wrong. The look on her face only confirmed his suspicions.

Laurel felt the tug on her arm and turned to see his familiar face. She tried to stay strong until they were somewhere more private, but the tears were already welling up in her eyes. Seeing his face only caused them to flow freely. Gared pulled her into the kitchen and then its larder, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd of Templars. He grabbed her by the shoulders trying to see her, her face covered by her hair as she hung her head and sobbed into her hands, blubbering. "Laurel, what's happened? Look at me and tell me what's happened?" She only continued to sob, unable to find the words. He wrapped his arms around his sister pulling her close and letting her bury her head into his chest while she wept. After a few moments, Laurel finally pulled herself together enough to speak. She looked up at Gared taking a deep breath and turning away, collecting her thoughts.

"It's father," she sputtered.

"What's happened to him?" he asked in a panic, grabbing her arm and spinning her to face him.

"No," she hissed. "It's what he's done! What he tried to do to me!" She wasn't crying anymore, she was enraged.

"What?" Confusion set upon his face, searching for her meaning. Wondering what their father could have done to rattle her this much.

Laurel shook her head. "Oliver was an assassin, Gared. He was supposed to kill father, but father hired him to swindle me instead. To try to get me to join the Chantry. None of it was real... " Her voice was unsteady."He...he wanted me to join that badly, he was willing to sacrifice my happiness, my sanity. I mean so little to him that he'd try to fool me into joining the Chantry out of heartbreak." She was quiet again, covering her mouth to quiet her cries.

"Laurel, this doesn't make sense," he said shaking his head. Gared swallowed hard, processing what he had heard. He never knew Laurel to overreact, to draw conclusions without proof. He had no choice but to accepted her truth without question. "I...I'm so sorry."

She looked up at him, wiping the tears from her face. "Gared, I'm leaving," she murmured. "I don't know where I'll go but I can't go back home." She sounded weak but he knew her words took strength.

"I don't suppose I could make you change your mind." She shook her head. "I understand," he whispered choking back tears. He looked down at her and wrapped his arms around her once more, stroking her hair. "Please just swear to me you'll let me know when you get wherever you're going, that I'll always know where you are and that you're safe." He let go, looking her in the eyes. She nodded and walked out the door. He stood there in shock, unable to move.

...

Laurel had made up her mind to leave, without a word to anyone but Gared. If Oliver had truly done as he promised, her father would be occupied and she could make one last stop at the estate. She would gather some belongings, break into the treasury and slink out through the back garden entrance.

Laurel made her way to her quarters, passing her brother Adam on the staircase without speaking or looking up, him barely noticing her presence. She packed a satchel with a few pieces of simple clothing and changed into a warm brown coat and sturdy leather boots, focused only on the task at hand. The vault was in the basement which she easily slipped to unnoticed, her focus driving her stealth. It took longer than she hoped to pick the lock, but the vault was open and she stuffed as much coin as she could carry into the satchel.

She stood in front of the entrance to the garden, taking a breath and finding her resolve to make the final steps out the door. As she turned the handle, she heard a voice say her name. It was her father, standing at the top of the staircase on a balcony, his face in a grimace. Laurel slammed the door behind her and started to sprint towards the back gate, the gravel of the garden path crunching beneath her feet. She darted through the hedges, hearing the door open and shut behind her. Her father was coming after her. She was only yards away from the gate when something was in her path, causing her to come crashing to the ground. Her face flew into the gravel, the rocks digging into her skin as she cried out in pain. She pushed herself up to her knees, wincing at the wounds on her hands. She turned to see what she had stumbled over. She was not prepared for what she saw. Laurel shrieked back in horror. It was a body she had fallen over. Whimpering, she crawled to the body, praying that it was not who she thought it was. She turned it over to find Oliver's lifeless body, his throat slit. She screamed, cursing the Maker. _Maker, NO!_ She cradled his head in her lap and began to weep into his chest. She hated him and what he did, but he had only a few hours ago been someone she thought she cared deeply for. She looked up to see her father standing over them. She knew he was the one responsible for this, for everything that had happened to her.

"You did this!" she wailed. "Don't think...for a second...I don't know you did this! I will never forgive you."

"It was for your own good," he said coldly.

Laurel leaned over, still crying, placing a kiss on Oliver's cold forehead, saying her goodbye. She gathered her bag,and without another word and without looking back, left through the gate. Her father standing there emotionless, watching her go.

NOTES: Thank you so far for those that have read and are following and have left reviews. This is my first ever fan fiction and the support is awesome and has kept me going! I truly appreciate it! 


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you say, Shanty? Is this better or worse than the night we spent in Wildervale?" Laurel quipped as she untied her boots.

Shanty was the only other tolerable female of the regiment, that made her the closest thing to a friend Laurel had. She sat at the other end of the tent in a puddle of water, drops of rain leaking overhead through the roof, wetting her short fiery red hair. Shanty was from Starkhaven and her accent was thick. "Both are shit, but I'd rather be wet than eaten alive by whatever the Hell those insects were. Quite a nasty shock waking up covered in them. Thought they'd carry me away."

"True, but when the bare asses went flying around, it did add a bit of charm to the evening." Laurel reminisced.

Both women laughed. "I don't know about you, but I couldn't get my clothes off fast enough, those things were inside of everything, even had to blow a few of them out of my nose." They looked up and a few of their tent mates stirred in their sleep as thunder clapped in the sky and shook the canvas of their tent. One of the men stuck between them sat up in frustration and threw something towards Shanty. "Would you two stop talking about taking your clothes off and go the fuck to sleep?"

"Well Gareth, suppose we should do what he says."

Night had finally come. Rain had been falling long enough to soak the ground. It was starting to seep in underneath the thin liner of Laurel's roll as well, the others near the outside of the tent were already sleeping in puddles. _Another night in a soaking wet bedroll, my favorite._ Despite the discomfort, Laurel knew she would have no trouble finding sleep tonight. The conditions were not something they weren't used to. It had been a long day of marching and training for the regiment, and she'd never been so tired. When she'd left Ostwick, this is where he heart and her feet had eventually led her. To a rainy night, now just a soldier in a tent among her comrades. No title, no politics, no trace of her old life, leaving behind the betrayal, trying to leave behind the pain.

Two years ago Laurel had joined the Free Army. The blight in Fereldan had just ended, fear of its spread and an influx of refugees had initiated the organization of the Free Armies once again. After what had happened, Laurel could no longer suffer the world of her parents, she wanted nothing to with that life. So she ran, gave herself a new name. She used the name she had used once before, that day at the competition. Effectively denouncing her title and family name. She'd rather be nothing. She instead went by Lora Gareth. Her fabricated surname was a tribute to the only person she thought ever really loved her, her brother Gared. Looking around at her brothers and sisters in arms, it hurt a little not being able to be entirely truthful with the people she'd now lay her life down for. She doubted they would really care who she was, but it was still a lie.

She hadn't ended up in the Army right away. In the first months of her departure, she wandered from city to city, surviving on the small amount of coin she'd stolen from her parents' treasury. She stayed in parts of cities where people wouldn't know her, the more dingy parts that nobles avoided, where she could hide who she was. Living out of taverns wasn't easy, she'd spent her 20th name day alone in a corner, drinking herself into a stupor. If a city seemed too dangerous, she would stay in the brothel where the madams were usually willing to offer her a bit of protection. She used her pretty face to get men to give her things: coin, food, paying for a night in a warm bed that she'd never allow them to share. If they didn't give then she got them drunk and stole their money after they passed out. She had no remorse. The world was her enemy then, and she spent a lot of time feeling angry at it, it was sort of a dark lonely time for her.

Eventually there was a small beacon of hope. In Kirkwall's Darktown, she'd heard tales of the Hero of Fereldan. How unbelievable it had been that she was a woman turned Grey Warden, and a noblewoman at that. It was inspiring. Maybe nobles weren't all bad after all, but she still wanted nothing to do with them. It was there on the streets of Kirkwall, when she was down to her last coin that a recruiter had spotted her. He'd seen her throw a punch at a man in the tavern after he got too grabby, figured she was strong. He called her feisty._ If he only knew!_ He was looking for true Marchers to defend the cities should the need arise, and wanted to know if she was interested in standing up for the cause. His promise of training, coin, and purpose drew her in. That and the fact that they'd just banned her from the tavern for her little display and she had no where else left to go.

She signed a contract the next day. She lied on her application to get in, had documents forged. She didn't want to make it easier for her parents to find her. And if the Army had known she had a title they would have made her an officer, and she was most definitely not interested in that. She just wanted to blend in and get the best training she could get. She wanted to learn how to fight, how to really fight, not just play-swinging a blade at an opponent that would never really strike. She was angry at the world. She thought it would somehow feel better if she could hit something, or even…kill something.

A week later Laurel found herself in Hambleton, the home of the training grounds for the new Free Army. She hadn't kept Gared as informed as she'd promised, but she wrote to him as soon as she had settled in at the camp. The first day of training started a few days after she arrived. Over the months her training was intense. From the moment training began the recruits were taught discipline, at first they did nothing but stand in formation at attention the entire day. The recruits stood there for hours, never allowed to move or speak, barely allowed to breathe. They wondered if they would ever be allowed to move. Standing there waiting for something to happen was maddening. Some recruits didn't make it past the first day. Then they started their physical conditioning. They ran, they marched, they ran some more, and the worst part were the push-ups in the dirt. A drill master would step on their backs, pushing their faces into the ground while shouting profanities in their ears. They were made to feel worthless, yet somehow ended up better and stronger. For the next month they learned how to follow commands, how to move as one body, how to wear the uniform, all the small intricacies that come with being a soldier in an organized army.

As she lay there listening to the rain, she thought about one of the inspections they'd had, about the second month into their training. The regiment stood there in formation. Each recruit stood at attention as the drill master asked each a series of questions. Questioning their purpose and their integrity, trying to break them, but also perhaps trying to find the best of the lot. That was the day Laurel decide she rather liked Shanty. Shanty was a smartass and didn't hold back and she liked that. Laurel remembered her turn, how she had stood silent and still, keeping her bearing when the drill master approached her. He looked her up and down for a moment, silently scrutinizing her stance and her uniform. The man was stocky and his head was bald, and he had a strong Fereldan accent. She had wondered at one point why a Fereldan would be leading a regiment of a Marcher Army. She no longer questioned it. He had more than shown his troops that he had the heart of a true Marcher.

"Soldier Gareth," he said licking his teeth.

"Reporting as ordered, Drill Master!" she said attempting to sound strong.

"Why have you joined my army? Why do you think you are good enough to be a part of MY regiment? Tell me how such a pretty face ended up here and not some dirty brothel sucking cock for a living! And don't give me some shit about serving your country, give me a real answer!"

She thought for a moment. "Someone pissed me off," she answered. "I wanted to kill something, Drill Master! I hoped you'd show me how to do it."

"Oh, you'll get to kill something alright, or something is going to kill you first! You'd better have the balls to follow through with it," he spat. "Everyone take note not to piss off Private Gareth, she might go on a murderous rampage.," he said, daring the recruits to crack a smile. He seemed satisfied with her answer. "And what makes you good enough to be here?"

She broke her forward gaze, only moving her eyes and no other muscle. Her eyes shifted to the side to look him the face. "I'm not, Sir. Not yet."

He lunged towards her, pressing a finger in the middle of her forehead. They were eye to eye, noses almost touching. She thought he might bite off her nose at any moment. He whispered. "Good answer. If you've got what it takes, I will make you good enough."

He had kept his promise. That day they were finally given their weapons: a sword and a round shield. Over the next weeks the regiment learned how to handle them, how to strike with a sword or do as much damage with a shield. How to kill. Laurel felt stronger, more confident, less broken each day. And for the first time ever, she felt important. More worthy than a title could ever make her. She was a part of something bigger than herself, something she chose to be a part of.

As she laid in the cold and wet tent that night more than a year later, she wondered if that day to kill would come soon. If she could really bring herself to drive her blade into a man's flesh. Her regiment had only fought a few straggling darkspawn near the south borders. Laurel had fought and killed a few of them herself and she hoped the experience would make it easier when she did have to kill something less monstrous. These darkspawn were strange creatures. She was puzzled how a thing could be so horrifying, but almost still look like a man. And how did they have the ability to hold a sword or a bow? Killing didn't feel good, not like she thought it would. She couldn't remember why she thought it would help. The anger was still there, though more contained and controlled now, not always at the forefront of her thoughts. Her time as a soldier had already changed her. She was stronger and more disciplined. Most of all she didn't feel like that silly little girl anymore, the one who was so easily tricked and taken advantage of. The pain had made her stronger.

...

They were on patrol when they saw it. A red light reaching into the heavens, far in the distance to the South. This couldn't mean anything good. Laurel had been leading a detachment between Kirkwall and Wildervale, she had just been promoted to the rank of Sergeant. Five years of service in the Army had led her here. Standing idle on the side of a mountain, watching danger from a distance, not allowed to act.

The last time they had seen trouble in the region, the entire city of Kirkwall was almost claimed by a group of rogue Qunari. Tal-something or other. Whatever was happening was coming from the direction Kirkwall again. Laurel had been a part of the group rotating in and out of the detachment then, traveling back and forth between there and the base at Hambleton. She had been there when the Qunari attacked, smelled the smoke, saw the city burning. They had orders to stay out of the city, but they had been permitted to attack the Qunari once they came outside of the city walls. They positioned themselves on the outskirts and kept the ones trying to leave from escaping. It was a long night, the first piece of real battle they had seen. By the time reinforcements arrived, the conflict was over. She killed her first man that night, one of the Qun converts. He was at least armed, which made it easier. Still, she thought of his face from time to time, how he looked when the tip of her blade pierced his skin. How the light left his eyes at the moment of death. If she hadn't killed him she would surely be dead, but that didn't change how it made her feel. Maybe a small part of her did die that day. The rest of her kills were just a blur, she let herself forget the faces after that, she didn't like to keep a count like some of the others did.

This time she was the one in charge, but she still had clear orders to follow. A small squad was positioned outside of the city, and her squad was to stay on the other side of the mountains. She would have to trust the other group to follow their orders and send reports of what was happening. For now her orders were still the same, the city takes care of what's inside the walls, the Army takes care of what comes outside. For now a runner would be sent to the forward camp to inform them that trouble was brewing and they just had to wait for their instructions and hope reinforcements were sent. The Marches had seen their fair share of trouble the past few years. The Qunari attack, the royal family of Starkhaven murdered, and now this.


	7. Chapter 7

9:38

"It didn't have to end that way you know." For the first time in years Laurel stood before her father in his study. He looked like a different man, older, sadder, he'd gone completely gray in the years since she had seen him last.

Six years ago he had put her through one of the worse ordeals of her life, now he was the one responsible for saving her. She had been discharged a month ago, dishonorably. She was stripped of her rank, her service awards, everything she had worked so hard for, gone. Lying on a military application was grounds for court marshal. Six years of service meant nothing because she wasn't who she said she was. She was a Trevelyan, and there was no running away from that now. She should have been imprisoned or worse, but being a Trevelyan had saved her. Her father only had to call in a few favors and her record was wiped clean, like the last six years had never happened. It wasn't fair. Not to her, not to the comrades she had fought with and lost. The mages were rebelling and she was forced to leave at a time soldiers were needed most. At least the rebellion had not yet spread to Ostwick. And now, she was back in front of the man who had taught her her first lesson in pain.

"I know you will never forgive me, but thank you for coming back. For your mother's sake if not for mine." He looked at his daughter, she was a woman now, a formidable one at that. She had grown and matured. This was the first time they had looked upon each other since that day in the garden more than six years ago. The day now fresh in their minds once again.

She sighed, pushing away the pain. She stood tall with her hands behind her on the small of her back: the "at ease" position she had grown accustom to taking. She showed no emotion, holding the bearing the military had taught her. "Of course. I've put it behind me. We can't undo what happened, so...I'd be perfect happy if never spoke of it again... try to move forward." She softened again, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, reminding herself to relax, letting her arms fall to her sides. This was her father, not her superior officer. "I...I was ready to come back home, to have a home again. I know you thought you were doing what was best, but I hope now you realize how much you hurt me."

He lowered his head into his hands, stifling a sob. "I'm so sorry Laurel, I...I was insane. I know what I did was wrong. I think we've all grown older and wiser since then. I've changed for the better. I took a hard look at my life when we lost you. I thought it would be forever."

"Well it wasn't, I'm back. I can't promise for how long, but for now I'm here."

"It's more than I could ask. For what it's worth, when we learned what you were doing, what you had accomplished, we couldn't have been more proud, your mother and I. Despite how it ended up. We should have let you choose your own way from the start, you wouldn't have been in this mess if we had. It takes a lot for a man to admit when he was wrong, but I was so completely utterly wrong."

She swallowed and stared blankly ahead, not quite sure what to think. "Thank you."

...

Laurel was back in the Ostwick Chantry courtyard for the first time in years. She never thought she would step foot here again. It still looked exactly the same as it had the last time she saw it. And just like a day had never passed, there knelt Gared, receiving a blessing from the same Chantry Priest.

And just as before he stood and greeted her with a smile. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her in for a hug and a planted a kiss on her cheek making her squirm and laugh. "Sister, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," she laughed, pushing him away in jest. They started to walk together out into the streets of Ostwick. They walked side by side with the same stiff gait, the same posture, the way those with military training would be conditioned to walk, almost a relaxed march. "I, uh, don't supposed I could interest you in a pint like we used to do," she said nudging him in the ribs with a grin.

He laughed. "Well that didn't take long, cut right to the chase didn't you? And I thought the military would have changed you."

She raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Well...? What say you?"

"I would love to, Laurel, but you've been gone a long time. Things are different now. With the rebellion I just don't have the freedom or the time that I used to."

She turned stoic and stopped for a moment. "The rebellion?" she said in alarm. "It hasn't reach the circle here has it?"

"No. Not yet, anyway." He motioned her to keep moving and looked around for prying ears, lowering his voice just in case. "But there are whispers. I'm sure the mages know what's going on outside the walls of Ostwick. We've had to take some more strict measures with the mages, but nothing too serious. Nothing to worry about."

She wasn't entirely convinced. "If you say so. You'd tell me if things went bad wouldn't you?"

He chucked. "Why? Are you going to come save me? You've been off learning how to fight wars so now you think you can take on an entire circle of mages."

"I would if I had to," she said with a chuckle, smacking him lighting on the arm. They continued. Laurel walked with her arms crossed, hands griping her elbows, looking down a bit. "You're the only one who's been there for me. The least I could do is come and save your arse from those sparklers."

"Don't go getting any ideas. You may be a soldier, but you're also my baby sister and I won't have you putting yourself in harms way for my sake."

"But I would. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know that." They had reached the gates to the circle, more fortification had been added to the walls since she had last been here. It was not a comforting sight. "This is where we part. Visitors aren't allowed in anymore."

"I see, trying to get rid of me." She glared looking up for a moment, staring at what could only be now described as a compound, maybe even a prison. She watched the Templars that were standing guard open the gates that were shut with some elaborate lock. Gared walked inside, looking back giving her a smile and a small salute. "You know where to find me," she called through the bars.

...

9:39

Another explosion, screams, metal hitting metal and flesh, something cracking, more screams. "Maker make it stop!"

The inevitable had happened, and now most of the mages were gone or dead, the ones that remained still fighting their way out. Laurel sat on the ground holding Gared in her arms, rocking back and forth. He was still with her for now, but his life was fading fast. He was burnt and bleeding, touched by both magic and blade. She held him for as long as she could, hoping help would come. Hoping that he could even be helped. He was coughing again, trying to say her name. Tears fell silently down her cheeks as she brushed his hair back from his face. "Shhh, save your strength, help is coming soon." The saliva in her mouth was thick, choking her, making it hard to speak. Somehow she had made it to him through the chaos but she had been too late. She had seen soldiers die, she recognized the signs. She knew by his sputtered breathing he was close. She felt helpless, her world was sinking. "Gared stay with me." He kept closing his eyes. _Please don't close your eyes._ He opened them again, but his look was still far off. He was trying to stay for her, but he couldn't fight much longer. He looked up at her, touching her face, the blood on his hand streaking her face. She grabbed his hand and held it there, she was weeping now, gasping for air. She knew he would be gone soon. "Gared?" He squeezed her hand, telling her he was still there, though his eyes had shut. He was shaking now, he looked afraid. The only thing she could think to do was try to sing, their governess used to sing a lullaby to them as children. She kept brushing his hair and his face, singing the song. It seemed to calm him. He went limp and stopped opening his eyes before the song had finished, his chest didn't rise anymore and his grip on her hand was gone. She shook him and screamed his name. He didn't move. He was gone. She couldn't move, couldn't hear or see or even cry anymore. She was surrounded by death, but only one mattered to her.

An explosion again and more screams, her ears rang and she was flat on the floor. The blast had knocked her on her back. Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet._ But Gared!_ She started screaming, fighting, wanting to get away from whoever held her by the arm. She had to stay with Gared. "No! Get away from me, No!" The man slapped her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, she felt like she had woken from a dream to find the world burning around her. "Come to your senses, girl! The circle is lost, we must leave!" He was a Templar, she could trust him, she had to go with him. She would come back for Gared's body when she could. "Give me a weapon!" He went to Gared's body, scoping up his sword and shield. "Take these, he would want you to have them," he said muffled through his helm. She gripped the sword, ready to fight her way out. They ran to the exit, into the long hallway leading out to the courtyard, passing room upon room, screams coming from every direction. In their path a mage crawled across the floor, he saw Laurel and the Templar running towards him and begged for their mercy. Laurel's mind was racing, scrambling for answers. How could the mages have brought so much destruction and death? How could they have killed her brother? The templars were their protectors. This mage did not deserve mercy, none of them did! She ran to the mage, screaming in rage as she brought her blade down upon him, ending his life instantly. The templar ran ahead, but she stood above the mage's body staring, catching her breath and watching him bleed. "My Lady! We have to go!"

She looked around weeping, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. They had to keep going. She sprinted toward the end of the hall now, the templar motioning her to hurry outside. She had almost made it to the door when she heard whimpering. Two mages in a small room to her right were cowering on the floor, holding each other. She stopped and stared, standing over them with blade raised. She felt the anger of her brother's death raging inside of her. These mages had no weapons, but they were far from defenseless. They had to be stopped. She roared and swung her blade. The mages screamed, begging for their lives. She didn't care. The selfishness of these mages had led to all of this, and they would pay for her brother's life. Magic was made to serve man, not destroy it. She would kill these mages, and she would find the ones responsible for Gared's death. She swore to take revenge.


	8. Chapter 8

9:41 Dragon

Laurel delicately ran her fingers over the cold smooth stone. She loved these city walls. They didn't represent what walls did to most, they weren't barriers. They were safety, they were memory, touching them always somehow brought her comfort. They represented a sort of freedom. She used to walk these walls with her brother. Nearly a decade ago when they were different people... when he was still alive. Now she walked the walls alone. This was the one place she felt he was with her, the one place that her memories didn't haunt her. And after today, she may never see these stones again, may never touch them. She leaned on the wall, closing her eyes, taking in feeling of the cool stone on her back and the warmth of the sun on her front, breathing in the smell of the ivy and blooms and the faint smell of the sea that roared on the other side of the wall. She imagined Gared standing there with her, not a templar any longer, just her brother. Saying goodbye to the wall almost felt like saying goodbye to him again.

For almost two years she had waited, biding her time until she had a chance to act. Tomorrow could change things, it could change everything. Maybe even bring her some peace. Her aunt and cousin, both Chantry sisters were attending the Chantry's conclave in Fereldan. The situation they were walking into was delicate. Her parents had agreed to send her along to aid them, protect them if the negotiations didn't go well. She knew mages that had escaped Ostwick's circle would be a part of the mage delegation. If what the templar survivors told her was true, she knew the mage who had slain her brother would be there. He would be a member of the Ostwick delegation. He would not survive to see the negotiations if her plans came to fruition.

Laurel opened her eyes again, forcing herself off with a push. She had already lingered on the walls too long. She was expected at the Chantry within the hour. She took one last look at the walls, wishing she could cling to them forever. But it was time for action, time for her revenge against the mages who had wronged her brother.

* * *

><p>Pounding. All she could hear was pounding and the sound of her own breath. With each thud, pain seared through her head. Laurel tried to open her eyes, but they felt like they had been glued together. Her senses slowly began to return. She could feel her head hanging low, stretching the tendons in the back of her neck. She tried lifting her head but it felt too heavy, and she too weak. The pounding sounds faded with each breath, she realized she must be hearing her own heartbeat hammering in her head. She slowly lifted her eyelids. It was dark at first, but more blurry as her eyes adjusted to the absence of light in the room.<p>

She started to hear a faint sparking sound, the sound of a fire, or magic perhaps. She tried bringing her hand up to wipe her brow, but there were some kind of bindings keeping her hands from moving. The bindings clanked as she moved. She turned her hands to examine the constraints on her wrists when something green sparked in her left palm, causing her to gasp. She tried to shake away what had lit in her hands, but it didn't come free. The spark almost looked like it was... inside... her hand. It glowed green again and shot a painful tingle through her arm. She looked around, wide eyed and confused. What had happened to her? She couldn't remember where she was, or how she got there. The last thing she remembered was the temple. She was looking for the mage.

Her eyesight was returning, she looked around and found herself surrounded by stone. On each side of her were armed men with their swords drawn, they looked to be guards. She gasped again at the sight of them, wincing away and looking down at the ground. She could hear her own breathing again growing heavy, her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to think, tried to remember. Just then a door in front her slammed open, hitting the wall with a bang. Two figures burst through the door and the guards surrounding her sheathed their weapons, the loud clanking of metal rang through her ears. The ones who entered, they were both women. They began pacing around her. Her heart pounded faster, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She was too afraid to move or speak, she could only watch them moving around the room. The red head approached her from the front, stopping at a distance. The dark haired one was behind her, and leaned in to speak in her ear, startling her. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now!"


	9. Chapter 9

Everything felt wrong. It felt as though everything she knew of herself, of the world was different now. This Herald they were calling her. That wasn't her. She had turned her back on the Chantry, on Andraste long ago. How could she be chosen by someone she no longer believed in? But now she was here, she had lived, they say she had been saved by Andraste herself. Somehow she had been sent out of the fade. She couldn't remember how she escaped the blast, and she didn't know why, Laurel only knew she did. Perhaps this was a second chance. Maybe she had been sent to atone for her sins, to make herself worthy of being at the Maker's side. She had come that day intent on murder. Intent on killing any mage that got in her way. Now they were dead and she had lived. Peace had certainly not been granted to her. She knew now that she had made a mistake. She thought back, thinking of the lives she had taken that day at the Ostwick circle in her grief. Why had she thought their lives were less valuable than her brother's? Because they were mages? Their deaths could in no way make up for his.

She stood now in Haven's Chantry, the first time she had been here on reason of faith in a very long time. It was odd now that this was the place she had turned to, after having turned away for so long before. But now she had been given a second chance at finding real faith, not something forced upon her by duty or tradition.

Laurel could remember being in the fade, but barely. It felt like her memories were taken from her or that her mind had blocked them from her. Laurel couldn't remember what had happened to her, but she could feel it. A deep fear nagging at her mind when she tried to close her eyes to rest. She was almost afraid to enter the fade again, even if only in a dream. Each night she had come to the Chantry, hoping to find some comfort or peace, at least some solace. For some reason it was easier at night. The light of the candles helped soften the look of the place, and there were less people here. She would come just after the midnight service, when but a few would be roaming the chapel.

It had been three days since she had awoken to find the breach still in the sky. Their first attempt to seal it had failed. And in those three days she had not yet found sleep. Tomorrow she would meet with the Inquisition's advisors. They would be discussing some sort of plan and it involved her. She looked down at her hand, at the mark now spread across her palm. The only reason they had allowed her to live at first was because of this. She remembered a verse from the Chant. _For no mortal may walk bodily In the realm of dreams, Bearing the mark of their Crime._ They said she had walked out of the fade. Was that why she was now marked? A punishment for her crimes, or was it truly a blessing from Andraste? Was it a mark of her sins or a mark of her worth? Whatever it was, it was now the only hope for stopping what was happening in the sky. And it had to be the reason she was the only one to survive.

She raised her head, turning her gaze toward the marble statue of Andraste surrounded by candles. She looked at the prophet, searching for answers. Wondering why her? Why now? Why like this? She knew she wouldn't find her answers today. Maybe if she could sleep she could remember. Or maybe she wasn't supposed to remember, maybe remembering would just make it harder to move forward. She decided she couldn't look back anymore, she just needed to have faith that all of this had happened for a reason and that a new path had been chosen for her. No, not chosen for her. Laid before her. The choice to follow it was hers. She was a Marcher. She determined her own destiny.

Laurel rose from her knees and turned to look at her surroundings. Every other day she had kept her focus on the altar, but Haven's Chantry served as much more than just a religious sanctuary. It was now the Inquisition's base of operations. There were offices, quarters, and then there was the war room. She had been in it only once, when she officially met the Inquisition's leaders. There was Cassandra, the seeker who had started this whole inquisition business. She was the first person she had met after the blast that destroyed the temple. Thankfully first impressions were not lasting in this case and she had been given a second chance by the seeker. Laurel again had the mark to thank for that.

Then there was the red head, the spymaster Leliana. She was frightening to say the least. If it served her she would stab you in the back or the front, whatever it took. And she moved so effortlessly and elegantly, you would never see her coming. She was in the room when she woke from the nightmare too. Had seen her weak and in chains, a feeling that made her quite uneasy and resentful.

There was also an Antivan woman whose name she couldn't remember, but she knew her surname had sounded familiar at the time. Some sort of nobility. She was ever so proper, serving in her perfect role of ambassador. She seemed like the sort to quite enjoy the snobbish dance that nobles liked to play with each other. She always stood perfectly straight, kept every hair in place, and held her clipboard close.

And there was the Inquisition's Commander. His name had escaped her too. He made her quite nervous. She wasn't sure if it was because of the title or something else. She had been a soldier and was almost promoted to warrant officer before she left, high ranking officers always made her jump a little. He had been a Templar like her brother before the mage rebellions. He stood tall and confident like a soldier and he was quite young to be a Commander. Close to her age she guessed but battle worn, with scars peeking from under his armor and splitting one side of his upper lip. Usually scars made people look worse, but something about his made him seem that much more attractive. His mouth had lifted on just that side when he had smiled briefly when their eyes caught before. He was admittedly handsome, she couldn't deny that. And the slight rasp of his voice was rather soothing.

She reached up to touch her own scar spread across the left side of her forehead and ran her fingers across another under her chin, trying to remember where she had earned the cuts. She wondered how battle worn it made her seem, if they affected her attractiveness in any way. She used to be a beauty, but it had been a long time since she had looked in a mirror and really examined herself in that way. She didn't know anymore. She still received attention, but for some men it didn't take much to cause them to advance. She shook her head at herself, laughing at the silliness of worrying if she was pretty enough. This was definitely not the time to be concerned with such things. She wasn't 18 and carefree anymore. 10 years had passed and those years had been long and wearing. It was surprising what could happen to a person in 10 years' time.

She shook, freeing herself from such thoughts. She looked to the door in the back again, sitting dead center on the very back wall. She was being drawn toward it, her feet moving toward it before she really knew what they were doing. _There it is_, she thought. The war room. Laurel wasn't quite sure she liked the sound of it. War. She'd never really fought in a full blown war. She had seen battle, been in combat, watched from the outside as a city burned, but a war? Had it really come to that? The mages and Templars had always been at odds, but now they meant to involve all of Thedas. And she suddenly found herself right at the center of the conflict. This _thing_ on her hand thrusting her to the heart of it.

She looked at it, convinced it had to be the work of mages. Who else could do something like this? Who else could do something so deranged as to put a hole in the sky to let the monsters in? She clamped her eyes shut, shaking the thoughts from her mind. No! She couldn't think like that anymore. It wasn't fair to blame the mages. They were men and women just like any other. All men were capable of extremes, great compassion and empathy but also great evil. Magical talent didn't suddenly make them all corrupt. She had seen enough corruption in normal men, even within her own family. Her father in particular.

Laurel stood in front of the door to the room now and reached for the handle deciding to try it. It was locked. She fiddled with the latch for a moment, taking only a few seconds to pick it. She slowly inched the door shut behind her and made sure it clicked quietly. She had the distinct feeling that maybe she shouldn't be in here sneaking around, but it didn't dissuade her any. The room was lit slightly by moonlight, it was enough to see so she didn't dare light a candle and alert anyone of her presence. She wasn't really sure if they trusted her yet, especially around this much information.

In the middle of the room sat the war table, with a large map of Thedas spread across its surface. She approached it slowly, peeking over the table's edge seeing the entire known world laying before her. She could see her home land, the Free Marches. To its northeast was Nevarra. Antiva and Tevinter to the north. Orlais and the Anderfels to the east. And south, where there were now, laid Fereldan. Metal markers and figures were spread over the map, she wasn't exactly sure what they were for. If each one represented a rift she was supposed to close, she had a lot of work ahead of her. It was overwhelming. She had never been responsible for such a large task. She hung her head and let out an exasperated sigh. She shook her head and swore. "Fuck."

The door behind her swung open with a metal screech, causing her to gasp. She turned to see someone standing in the doorway, their face lit by a candle they held in their hand. It was the Commander. "Forgive me. I…didn't mean to startle you, Herald. I didn't know anyone was in here. Is…everything alright?"

She turned back to the table, leaning on it trying to catch her breath. She chuckled at herself under her breath while holding her chest. The Commander walked to the other side of the table, lighting candles around the room as he moved past each candelabrum. "I apologize, I know I shouldn't be in here."

"And what makes you say that?" he questioned.

"Perhaps because the door was locked," she admitted.

His voice was low as he chuckled. "I won't ask how you got inside then." He stopped behind the table across from her and stood with his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. "You should have access, I'll make sure you're given a key in the morning."

She looked up sheepishly smiling. "Thank you." She was embarrassed, but she had to know his name. "Commander, forgive me, but it's been a very long few days and I haven't quite gained my senses. I missed your name at our introduction."

He placed his hand on the back of his neck, look away almost as if he were nervous. "It's Commander Cullen...or Rutherford if you prefer more formal address. Ah, should I call you Lady Trevelyan, or...?"

She laughed with a head shake. "No that won't be necessary, Commander Cullen."

He looked relieved and laughed a little at himself. "Apologies. I don't deal with very many nobles, I wasn't sure what was expected."

She shrugged her shoulders. "No matter, I've been away from court for the better part of the last decade. I'm beyond forged politeness and formality. I find it rather exhausting actually, though I do try when it is required."

"I suppose I should have guessed that when I walked in on you swearing," he said with a small laugh.

Her mouth gaped open in surprised as she blushed. "You heard that? Well…damn! I guess that really isn't very lady like. You caught me, I have the mouth of a fishwife."

He stood there with his arms crossed. "You were in the military, weren't you? It can tend to do that sort of thing. Or so I hear."

"I was...for almost 7 years," she sighed. "I wish I could say that's the reason I have such a foul mouth, but I'm afraid I've always been like that. The army just taught me a few new _colorful_ words to say."

He chuckled. "You were an officer? I'm sure your troops trembled at your vocabulary."

She pressed her lips together. "No actually, I enlisted."

"Oh, I just assumed since you had a title. I didn't think they let…"

She interrupted suddenly. "I lied about it. Got myself in quite a bit of trouble. My career ended because I hid it. I lied on the application because I didn't want to be an officer. I didn't want to deal with the politics and all the other shit that comes with having a title," she said with a tinge of bitterness.

"There are worse things than having a title. But… I think I take your meaning," he nodded.

She'd made it awkward again, as it weren't already awkward enough between them. "Forgive me, I probably sound like an ungrateful brat. I did have a privileged upbringing, I should be thankful. I never wanted for anything." That wasn't entirely true. She had wanted for nothing money could buy anyway. A bit of affection from her parents would have been worth more than any coin.

He changed the subject clearing his throat. "Ah, so...what brings you to here at such a late hour? Planning world domination on your own?"

She blew a short laugh from her nose and smiled. "I couldn't sleep. I haven't slept for… days. I keep coming to the Chantry hoping to calm my nerves, but it hasn't worked yet. I sort of just wandered over to the war room tonight." she admitted. "I could ask you the same thing," she said lifting her eyebrows.

"I had trouble finding sleep as well," he rasped as he scratch the back of his neck. "I thought I could finish reading a few reports from Sister Leliana's scouts."

She lifted some parchments and threw them in front of him. "If you want to be bored off to sleep you should try reading some of these reports from the ambassador. Lots of big long titles with names I can't even begin to pronounce. Not very riveting material, trust me I tried."

He chuckled low. "Of that I have no doubt. How many days exactly since you've slept?"

"Well, this is the 3rd night I've ended up in the Chantry instead of my bed." She stared down blankly, thinking. "I...I just suppose I'm afraid to close my eyes, to go to the fade again. I feel like I'm going to go mad," she said looking up at him. He was looking down at her and their eyes locked for a moment, both were quick to look away. Laurel lost her breath for just a moment. Why was he so easy to spill her secrets to? She had told him more in the last few minutes than she had told anyone since arriving at Haven. Perhaps it was their similar backgrounds. He was a military man and there was always a certain understanding when you came across a fellow soldier.

Commander Cullen cleared his throat. "I...I know what that's like. I've had many sleepless nights myself. If you're interested I have a bit of a secret cure I've used from time to time. I'd be willing to share it with you. I don't like to use it often, but sometimes I find it necessary."

"What sort of cure is this secret of yours?" she questioned him squinting her eyes curiously.

"I'll show you." He led her out of the war room and he stepped into his quarters that laid just to the left. She waited outside the door as he fetched something from inside. He came out and stood in the doorway, pouring a bottle into a small flask. "It's a very strong dwarven wine, mixed with a just bit of blood lotus. It does the trick every time," he said handing her the flask. He turned around placing the wine on a table just by the door. "And I do mean strong, don't drink it until..." She had already thrown back the entire flask. And she already felt incredibly dizzy. "Sweet maker, I was going to say don't drink it until you're ready to fall asleep."

The room was moving and she was having trouble staying upright. The drink was acting quickly. "That's the sort of thing you say to someone before you hand them such a thing," she slurred, wondering if he could even understand her. She barely understood herself. "I...I think I need to sit down." She started laughing, letting out a snort and quickly covered her nose. "Oh Maker, that's embarrassing." She started to fall.

Cullen burst out laughing, catching her before she hit the floor. "I did say it was strong."

"I think you're going to have to help me to my room, if I can even make it that far."

He pulled her inside the room he had fetched the wine from and sat her on the floor. "I think you may be right. You won't make it that far." He looked around for a moment, considering the options. "Just use my quarters for the night, I'll find my way to the barracks." He picked her up and put her on the bed before she could protest.

"Are you sure," she asked sleepily. "You don't have to put...," and she was out, finally asleep. He shook his head, laughing at what had just transpired. He pulled the quilt over her, accidentally brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. Her skin felt soft. He looked at the skin he had just touched, something about her was very striking, she was beautiful and this was not the first time he had noticed, he stood and watched her sleep for a moment. She almost reminded him of someone he knew once. He realized how inappropriate it was to linger and left silently scolding himself, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could manage.


	10. Chapter 10

Lady Trevelyan had just returned from the Hinterlands. They'd only just met, but for some reason Cullen couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Ever since he had found her that night in the war room and she had shared so much. He still scolded himself for the accidental touch and lingering over her while she slept. He unwillingly kept finding his gaze drifting when he knew she was near. Something about her was…intriguing. And he was not afraid to admit she had some interesting physical assets. Just because he had been a Templar didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a beautiful woman when he saw one. He wasn't dead…not yet. It been a long time since any woman had caught his attention in such a way. There had been distractions before when he felt the need for release, but this was not the same.

He knew little of Lady Trevelyan before they had spoken in the Chantry. Only that she was nobility from the Free Marches, and had some military experience which could be used to their advantage. Normally he could not stomach interacting with nobility and avoided it like a bad smell, but she had been easy to work with so far. She was not like other nobles he had met, she was much more down to earth. He suspected most would jump at the opportunity to grab at a tiny sliver of fame, but this woman had been very much resistant to her new found title of Herald of Andraste. She had said it was unnerving, and he could certainly sympathize with her.

Thanks to his brilliant idea of drugging the poor woman that night at the Chantry, the Inquisition's plans had been delayed by a day. He had ordered that she not be disturbed until she emerged on her own and she had slept through the following day and into the next morning. He found himself quite embarrassed at their next meeting when she accused him of a failed attempt at poisoning her. He couldn't be sure if she was joking or not, she seemed to be a fan of dry humor and he just had to hope the accusation was an attempt at it. She acted angry, but he could have sworn he heard faint snickering as he left the room. Even if she wasn't serious, he still felt guilty.

For the moment he had to remind himself that there was a very large task before them and his focus needed to be redirected back to the mission. This was a bridge he could not cross no matter how tempting. His time as a Templar had taught him when and how to turn emotional attachment off, he had done it before when another young woman had caught his attention at the Fereldan circle tower. It made things easier, especially when the mage failed her harrowing. The thought of what could have been left a lump in his throat. What if he hadn't been able to strike her down? This would have to be no different. Although he did have to admit things were different this time. He was different this time without the lyrium.

The Herald had managed to bring the Chantry Priest back to Haven as requested. Reports the party brought from the Hinterlands were disturbing. Mages and Templars were openly fighting in the area and were leaving destruction in their wake. The Herald and Lady Cassandra had already spread the Inquisition's influence further than they had thought possible so early in its birth and the area had requested the Inquisition's continued aid. People were already talking about what they had seen Lady Trevelyan do there and they were gaining recruits thanks to her. She had come back requesting the construction of watch towers in the area, which his soldiers would be sent to build. When the area was safe, they would be able to convince the horsemaster there to send his finest steeds to aid the Inquisition.

The last few days had been busy, he found himself finally able to concentrate and much had been accomplished. The task of keeping peace between the mages and Templars that had come to aid the Inquisition had fallen on him. Somehow he had been successful. Other than a brief clash in front of the Chantry, there had been no incidents to cause concern thus far. With that small crisis temporarily quelled, he had been able to set up a place for the men to practice, as well as see to the construction of the towers and prepare the stables for the horses. For now he stood amidst swinging swords overseeing the recruits' swordplay, focusing on their form and scrutinizing their poor excuse for so-called skill. It was time for some tough love to be dealt. "You there! There's a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy you'd be dead!" he spat. He turned to his Lieutenant with further instructions when he spotted the Herald off in the distance, heading out of the main gates.

As she walked through the gates leading outside Haven's walls, Laurel had been drawn to the familiar sound of clashing metal. As she drew closer she spotted the Commander in the middle of the make shift sparring grounds. He stood with his hands on his hips and every few seconds he would throw his hands up, spouting corrections. He reminded her a bit of the drill master who had once instructed her at the start of her military career. They looked nothing alike, but the scowl was there and he seemed equally as hot-headed and almost as scary when he was giving commands. Maybe it was a Fereldan thing. Watching him in action made her heart start to beat a little faster and a flush rushed over her skin, something about the sneer and the tone he used, every motion he made seemed strong and controlled. She couldn't be sure if she were slightly intimidated or if she were experiencing something else altogether.

Out of the corner of his eye Cullen saw the Herald approach. He could see her dark hair had become somewhat disheveled, pieces of the braid she wore had come lose. She looked weary. He imagined she had been through much in a very short time and he could envision quite well what it must be like in the midst of all the fighting in the Hinterlands. She seemed to be handling it well despite all of it. He himself knew exactly what it was like to be in the middle of a battlefield between Templars and Mages. He knew none of this had to be easy on her.

She walked up slowly gripping her elbows, watching recruits and stopping beside him. "Remind me never to practice in front of you. You're a little scary," she jested.

He chuckled slightly. "You forget I've seen you on the field," he smirked looking toward her with his arms crossed as he tried to continue to direct his focus to his troops. He noticed in the short walk some flush had returned to her cheeks and her hair was a bit less unkempt. "You could give these recruits a run. Maybe even myself," he offered almost as a challenge.

She raised her eyebrows and one side of her mouth lifted at the thought. "Maybe we'll have to test that out sometime."

"Perhaps we will. That I shall look forward to," he found himself too eager in reply.

"You give me too much credit," she laughed looking at her feet. "I'm certainly not the best, but I do at least know how to work a sword and shield. I used to be proficient with a bow, but I haven't picked that up for quite some time." It had in fact been a very long time since she had touched a bow. She didn't care to think of the memories she associated with shooting, but she would take it up again were it required.

He watched her feet fiddle with the gravel beneath her. "I'm sure you could teach some of the new soldiers a thing or two," Cullen reassured her and a small smile returned to her lips. He was glad he seemed to have broken her from whatever sullen thoughts she pondered while she stared down at her boots. Her head lifted and she looked to him as he continued. "We've received a number of recruits. But none made quite the entrance you did."

She shrugged smugly and the life had returned to her eyes. "At least I got everyone's attention."

"That you did," he smirked.

"What about you Commander? How did you find yourself here among us Chantry outcasts?"

He motioned her forward and they began walking through the camp observing soldiers as they passed. He walked quickly and she tried to match his pace. "I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall myself. I was there during the mage uprising and saw firsthand the devastation it caused. I would not wish that on my worst enemy."

He slowed and she stopped for a moment to look up at him as another soldier approached, handing the Commander a report he barely glanced at. Her look became distant as she recollected the reports she received that day after the devastation. "I was on a patrol when the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded, we saw it from miles away. We didn't know then how bad things really were or I'm sure they would have sent us to help." She swallowed as she watched her feet in the snow and rock. She had always felt guilty for being unable to help during the attack. "Things weren't as bad when Ostwick's circle finally rebelled, it at least stayed confined to the circle and left most of the city untouched. You left the order when you joined the Inquisition then?"

"Cassandra offered me position so I left the Templars to join her cause. I never thought it could get more dire than what I saw at Kirkwall, but it did. Now it seems we face something far worse," he rasped.

She sighed. "You mean like the conclave destroyed and a giant hole in the sky? Doesn't look very good does it?"

"Which is why we're needed. The Chantry has lost control and now the Inquisition can act where they could not. I know you've been reluctant to embrace your role in this, but our followers would be a part of that call to action and you inspire them. Just think of what we can accomplish. There's so much we can….forgive me," he shook his head at himself. "I doubt you came here for a lecture."

"No," she laughed. "But if you have one prepared I'd love to hear it. Your passion and enthusiasm are…admirable. I think I could learn a thing or two," she said with a nod.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he chuckled. "Another time perhaps."

She looked up at him smiling with amusement and it was as if something was suddenly caught in his throat. The way she was looking at him was more than just mere professional admiration and it caught him off guard. Suddenly she felt like an idiot grinning so widely at him and quickly shifted her gaze away. Cullen for a moment forgot was he was saying. "I…ah," he cleared his throat. "There's still a lot of work ahead," was the only thing he could muster as he looked off for anything he could refocus his attention to.

Just then a soldier approached with a report requiring his attention. Work was just what he needed at this moment. He felt like he had been saved. "As I was saying," he looked to her and motioned taking his leave. Her eyes stayed on him as he walked away. She stood trying to catch her breath. She felt like she had completely shamed herself the way she had just looked at him, smiling and batting her eyes like a maiden. And staring after him like a lecher watching his hind quarters as he sauntered away was not helping matters either. _Get a grip, Laurel._

She looked around for anything else to focus her eyes toward. On the other side of the sparring area she spotted Cassandra, practicing alone and taking out her frustrations on a dummy. The seeker had the right idea and she thought to join her, but they would both be expected in the war room soon. She didn't want to show up looking worse than she already did or smelling of sweat. They had one last meeting before heading off to Val Royeaux. They were walking right into the viper's pit to throw themselves at the Chantry, hoping they suddenly came to their senses. The decision to venture into enemy territory was not her own and she had made her displeasure at the idea very clear, but it seemed to be their only option. This whole situation had begun to wear on her and there seemed to be no rest in sight. If she left now she would have just enough time to clean herself up and don a new set of clean armor before she would be expected at the counsel, and she supposed she should look her best walking into a place like Val Royeaux. It would cause quite a scandal if the damned Herald of Andraste showed up dirty and in rags.


	11. Chapter 11

Laurel burst into the war room fuming. She had thrown the door open with such force that the sound of the heavy metal and wood against the stone wall echoed throughout the chapel. The candles throughout the hall shook and flickered from the vibrations of her outburst. Every eye in the war room opened wide in shock at her person and quickly darted away afraid of what wrath eye contact with the wild creature might incur.

Laurel stood in the doorway, huffing and fists clenched at her sides, an inner rage begging to escape in whatever way it could manage. She wanted to yell, to hit something, throw something. She uncurled her hands and took a breath, trying to regain even a small amount of composure. Lady Cassandra followed behind, eyeing Lady Trevelyan with a fervent look of disapproval as she took her place at the table. She had already heard enough ranting on the return trip to Haven. It was all she could do to keep herself from knocking the woman from her horse to shut her up. Things hadn't gone their way, Lady Trevelyan would just have to deal with it.

The trip to Val Royeaux had been a complete disaster. The Chantry was still strong in its declaration, they named Lady Trevelyan a heretic despite her vehement denial of being any sort of holy figure. The Chantry would offer no assistance and no support to the Inquisition and they continued to blame its Herald for everything that happened, including the death of the Divine. And now they had even bigger problems to contend with. The Templars had gone mad, declaring themselves completely independent of the Chantry and the Inquisition unworthy of their concern. Any chance they had of approaching the Templars for help had vanished quickly. The Lord Seeker had called her a puppet and that had stung far worse than anyone could know. He had hit a nerve and Laurel was enraged at the insult. She had felt like a pawn her entire life, constantly fighting for control of her own destiny. He had caused her to question herself, to question the Inquisition. She wondered if she had allowed herself to be manipulated again, to be used and offered up as a sacrifice once more. She paced around the war room hugging her body as Cassandra gave her report, chiming in throughout when any particularly infuriating detail had been left unsaid. When Cassandra began to speak of the Lord Seeker, Laurel could take no more of this.

"A puppet he called me! A puppet!" she roared.

Cassandra tried calming her. "You are not a puppet, we told you that you were free to leave if you wished."

Laurel shook her head. "I told you this was a bad idea from the start! We should never have approached the Chantry!"

"We had no choice!" Cassandra put her foot down. "If you do not like what we are asking of you then go!"

"No!" she yelled pounding her fist on the table, shaking the metal pieces of the map from their positions and causing a tome left at the table's edge to fall to the stone floor. "I said I would see this through and I will," she declared gesturing with a pointed finger for emphasis. "I'm not backing down because some washed up ass-hat idiot thinks he's better than us. I will show him exactly what he has to fear from this Inquisition!" Her face bent with grim determination.

Leliana's eyes peaked with delight drawing up the corners of her mouth with them. The Herald, usually so resistant to her role, could very well be on her way to embracing it. "Us?" Leliana chimed. "So you are an official member of this Inquisition now?"

"Well of course I am!" she snapped, throwing her hands. "Just…finish the report without me. I was there, I don't need to listen to all of this bullshit again." She took a deep breath and brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose pinching it. "I…I need to go calm down." She exited slamming the door shut behind her.

The four remaining members of the Inquisition stood in silence looking around awkwardly, slightly stunned. Josephine cleared her throat and straightened her back. "Well…that was…interesting" she started.

Cullen had smartly kept quiet during the exchange. As the air sat thick with tension, he couldn't help but be amused at the situation. Lady Cassandra was a force to be reckoned with and it seemed she may have met her match in Lady Trevelyan. A chuckled started to escape from his throat that quickly turned into a full, exuberant laugh. Cassandra glared at him, her eyes mere slits. "What is it you find so funny, Commander?"

He brought his fist up to his mouth taking a breath and coughing to gain back his sobriety. "I just…she has quite the temper doesn't she?"

Leliana spoke. "Can you blame her?"

"No," Cassandra admitted. "We have to remember she didn't choose this as we have. Perhaps we are putting too much on her shoulders?"

"You may be right, but what choice do we have? She's the only one who can close the breech. And the people have decided they want to follow her, and for good reason," Cullen concluded.

"Let's just hope she doesn't crack under the pressure," Cassandra scoffed.

"We must do what we can to make sure that she doesn't. But we've lost our focus. Now that we know the Templars aren't willing to help us we need to make a decision whether to approach the rebel mages," Leliana interjected.

Cassandra agreed. "First Enchanter Fiona seemed open to the idea."

"I still think we could appeal to the Templars. Even if the Lord Seeker refuses, we could still sway some of their ranks to our cause," said Cullen.

Cassandra sighed. "Believe me Commander, I would rather not work with the rebel mages, but they could be our only option."

"Perhaps we can reconvene when Lady Trevelyan has cooled off and can be included in the discussion," Josephine reasoned.

"I agree," Cullen nodded.

Leliana waved her hand with a curt motion indicating the group's dismissal.

* * *

><p>The afternoon had been intense. Cullen saw a side of the Herald that no one could have guessed lurked beneath the surface. She was usually so pulled together save from a few moments he observed a loss of confidence, or a quick bout of swearing. She usually seemed to recover quickly when her flaws had shown. This afternoon she had shown such anger. She had been almost frightening, but the assertiveness had not deterred him. Far from. It was almost endearing to know some passion lurked beneath the usually cool exterior. It was something the Inquisition needed in its ranks. And it had awakened him to say the least. After watching her so heated, he needed a chance to cool off himself.<p>

He hadn't the intent to find her when he excused himself to take a walk, but as he saw her through the trees Cullen felt a draw, a want and a need to go to her. She left quite upset and had not returned to the encampment for some time. He wouldn't miss an opportunity to speak with her about what happened. _Someone should surely check on her_, he reasoned. As Laurel walked through the thick, scavenging for herbs she startled as she heard sticks breaking behind her. She gasped as she turned to see the Commander only a few steps behind her.

"You like to sneak up on people don't you?" she said with a glare. She stood with her arm wrapped around the trunk of a small tree and the opposite hand rested on her jutted out hip.

"I saw you in the distance. I…thought I'd make sure you were alright after what happened in there," he said clemently.

She sighed pushing herself from the tree, struggling to meet his gaze. She knew her behavior in the war room had not been very complimentary. "I'm fine. I just needed to get away for a bit."

"I know all of this must be overwhelming," his tone offering sympathy.

"Do you?" she scoffed. Overwhelming was a very light way of putting it. "I have somehow managed to insert myself into a position of unprecedented need by waking up with this _thing_ on my hand. I would give it away at the first opportunity were I given the chance. If I was chosen by Andraste, she picked the wrong person for the job," she retorted.

"I disagree," he affirmed.

"You do?" she said looking up at him locking his eyes, wondering why this man had such faith in her.

Cullen felt his heart flutter in his chest for just a moment as he studied the beacons boring into his very soul. Her brows normally arched perfectly above her eyes save for a small section broken by a scar, but now they were straightened into a furrow. He knew her eyes were brown before, but now the exact dark brown shade would be locked in his mind forever. They reminded him of a deep bowl of warm chocolate, the kind he sipped on when the snows fell in Honnleath. A treat reserved for he and his siblings only a few times when he was a child. The brown color was lighter toward the center and grew darker at the edge of the iris, the same way the chocolate would as it clung to the sides of the cup. They shimmered too, like rocks shown through the clear surface of a running brook when the sun hit its waters . There was a radiance to them, enhanced by the thick black lashes outside and the dark makeup she used that lined them. It wasn't too much, just enough to draw attention to her eyes. He wasn't sure if that had been there before.

He swallowed, breaking his gaze as his hand raised behind him where he found his neck and began rubbing. "I ah…all… of us trust that you can complete the task at hand."

She turned away still disconcerted and began walking up a steep hill treading through the snow as he followed close behind. "Again, you give me too much credit. I am not what any of you think I am."

"Then what are you?" he questioned as he climbed the hill behind her, using the thin tree trunks for leverage, feeling they would break under his weight if he lost his footing or pulled too hard. The trunks only grew thinner as they climbed higher.

She stopped and turned back toward him. Her eyes moved back and forth as she searched for the answer. She couldn't tell him what she really was. A liar, a murderer, a failure. "According to Lord Seeker Lucius, I'm a pawn. It isn't like I'm not used to it. I've been used my entire life. Always someone else's tool," she said bitterly.

"I can empathize, even if only a little. I was a Templar. I saw how the Chantry used us. They used our faith and our desire to serve to make us addicts and to control us, used us to do their bidding which was rarely ever just."

Her face softened as she considered. "Is that why you really left?"

"There are many reasons why I left and that is only one of them. But we aren't really here to talk about me or the Templars are we?" his own voice now filled with bitterness.

Lady Trevelyan's eyes moved to watch some far off scene and he noted fleeting pain cross her face for just a moment. She inhaled sharply and let out a slow quiet breath. When she spoke it was gentle. "My brother was a Templar. I wonder if he would've felt the same."

"Was?" he inquired.

She was quiet as she thought whether to answer or not. Her eyes returned to his again and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to speak the words. "He died," she murmured, her lips barely moved as the words escaped.

He could only think to apologize, he wouldn't pry. "I'm… sorry," he said with sincerity.

She weakly smiled at him, appreciative of his sympathy, and glad he didn't press further. She guessed he likely knew better, he must have experienced loss of his brethren in Kirkwall during their uprising. He had surely experienced some of the same pain. Speaking of it never accomplished anything. "So am I."

She turned continuing up the snowy bank. Both remained quiet, letting the silence create distance from the painful memories that had reared. Only the sound of their breaths and the crunching snow beneath their feet filling the air. Cullen still followed close behind. He found his eyes drifting up from the ground in front of him and lingering on her form. Her legs were strong but slender, thickening just-so at the thighs. The leathers she wore were tight, fitted seemingly just for her body. He could faintly see through to the movement of her muscles working at propelling her up the hillside. As his gaze reached higher, flickering toward her buttocks he force his look away, attempting to retain a bit of dignity for himself.

"Why are we traversing this hill?" he wondered, distracting himself.

She blew a short laugh from her lips. "I don't seem to remember asking you to follow me, Commander Cullen."

"I wasn't aware I needed permission, Lady Trevelyan," he bantered.

She turned back shooting him a mischievous smile. "A gentleman always asks permission," she quipped.

He raised an eyebrow and tried to keep the corner of his mouth from lifting to a grin. "I'll keep that in mind."

She chuckled. "I thought I saw elfroot at the tree line, but now I'm not sure. I think it might just be a weed."

"I'm sure we could find a less treacherous location to harvest if you want it that badly."

"But where's the fun in that?" she said playfully.

Laurel looked back as she heard a loud snap, her eyes wide and mouth gaping as she watched what was unfolding.

"Oh… shit." Cullen groaned as the thin trunk he had just grabbed for balance broke into two. A moment later he was tumbling down the hill, fresh snow flying in every direction as he plummeted, the world around him turning in circles. Luckily he made it to the bottom quickly and mostly unscathed. He stood up brushing the snow from his armor and fur pauldrons. He had barely steadied himself when he heard a squeal and his feet were knocked out from under him. Lady Trevelyan had attempted to run after him and only found herself in the same predicament, sliding and then rolling down the hill trying not to hit anything on the way down. Cullen sat up moaning and holding his back. When he looked to see what had hit him he expected to see a log or something equally as hard and heavy, but instead saw Lady Trevelyan flattened on her back, sprawled out in the snow. He stood up quickly to see if she had been hurt, but his worry quickly turned to relief as she sat up laughing in hysterics. Luckily their armor had left both mostly protected from injury. He couldn't help but laugh along as he offered his hand to pull her from the snow. "Are you hurt?"

"No, but maybe you were right about the hill. Treacherous indeed," she said covering her mouth with the back of her hand, still trying to calm her laughter as he pulled her to her feet. "I think I will stay on even ground from now on."

He blew out a quick laugh as they both swept snow from their clothing. "Sound advice." Cullen suddenly felt very awkward in front of her, shamed at his hidden transgression before. "I…should return to my duties. Before you kill us both."

"I suppose I may be needed as well," she sighed looking in the direction of their path of return.

"Let's not mention this to anyone. I don't need any help embarrassing myself," he said brushing snow from his hair. Laurel looked up and watched as his fingers ran through and it became unkempt for just a few seconds. His wide shoulders growing even larger with the lift of his arm over his head. She was suddenly stirred and heat rose in her chest for just a moment before she tore her eyes from him and forced the feeling away.

"Of course not," she said not entirely convincing him. She looked back up, offering him the same stupid grin she had shown him once before. This time he smiled back, the scarred side of mouth curling slightly higher than the other.

He cleared his throat and turned away. "Shall we," he said motioning her forward.

As she watch him turn from her, Laurel reprimanded herself, clearing the emotion from her face. What was she doing? She had to stop this, whatever this was. Many years had passed since she last felt anything toward a man, and she swore she would never let it happen again. Any relationship she had been involved in since the day her heart was broken had been completely physical and she worked too closely with this man to let anything of the nature happen. She suddenly had the desire to get as far away from Commander Cullen as she could manage in order to gain control of herself. "On second thought, you should go ahead. I did promise Adan I would find elfroot. A small repayment for the trouble he went through for me."

He looked back slightly and nodded, noticing a sudden change in tone. "Then I suppose I'll see you back at camp."

* * *

><p>Drill this morning had been trying. The small ache that was always there had grown into full blown pain during the night. He hadn't slept really at all. And the thirst he felt was incredible. Maybe if he could take just a small bit of it he would feel better. No, he shook his head at himself. He would not give in, it had been months. He wouldn't let it control him anymore, he would not give any more of his life to the lyrium. He couldn't. The stakes were too high. He was better without it, wasn't he? He had come so far, he had to believe he could do this. He just needed to rest and maybe the craving would pass.<p>

Cullen stood now in the war room, holding on for just a little bit longer. One more meeting with the Herald and he could retreat for at least the rest of the day. Attempt to nurse the pain a bit. She and Cassandra were leaving for the Hinterlands again. Cassandra could tell something wasn't right nearly immediately, he could tell by the way she looked at him suspiciously. But of course she would. She knew what was going on and she was always on alert. He hoped no one else had noticed. So far he had done well hiding the pain, but today was the worst he experienced since the first few days he had been without the lyrium. He was working himself too hard, he knew that. But how else would they be ready for whatever came out of that hole in the sky? The Herald couldn't do it on her own. She would require troops and power behind her when the time came.

Since the day on the hill he had tried to distance himself from the Herald. Being sure to speak only professionally. He couldn't keep entertaining the idea that something other than comradery could be there, he had let the flirting go too far already. He couldn't even afford a friendship, not right now. It hadn't been that hard really because it had seemed she had come to that same conclusion herself. She hadn't spoken to him outside of the war room for days. He kept finding himself trying to find an excuse to speak with her, but quickly removed the thoughts from his mind redirecting to his work and his troops. He just felt so…drawn to her. He was working closely with a number of women and none of them were unattractive, but something about Lady Trevelyan was just…he couldn't put his finger on it, it was just different. There was a time in his life he would have reasoned that what he was feeling meant something, whether it be fate or a sign from the Maker. But he was past believing in such foolishness now.

In the war room, he knew Lady Tevelyan had noticed something was different about him. When others were speaking he could see her out of the corner of his eye, looking up stealing glances. He tried to look down and keep his focus on the war table, but he kept seeing the movement of her eyes and had stolen a few glances himself trying to read her expression. He could tell she was concerned. When the meeting had adjourned she lingered for a just a moment, he almost thought she was going to stay, to ask him if everything was alright, but she left without a word. It is better this way, he thought. With her gone it would be easier and there would be less distraction. And today he could rest.

With everyone cleared from the room, he closed the door behind him making sure to secure the latch. Luckily his quarters were close and the walk to his chamber was a mere ten steps from the door of the war room. He was sure if it were any further away he may not have made it. He pulled his armor off quickly once inside, immediately gaining himself some small relief when the weight of it released from his body. Leaving the armor piled on the floor, he retrieved a pair of linen trousers from his trunk and pulled them to his waist. He sat on the edge of the bed, resting the weight of his head in his palms. He kneaded his temples with the heels of his hands and using his fingertips massaged his scalp, working his way back behind his ears and down his neck.

The pain had only grown in intensity from the morning. By now his head was pounding and the sound of his own pulse echoed through his ears. If he was going to sleep this off he needed the wine. He looked to the desk where he usually kept it corked. The cup was there, sitting on a stack of tattered books, as were some scattered coins and a jar of ink, but the wine was not in its usual place. He remembered where it had been last, sitting on the small table by the door. He left it there weeks ago when he had given some of the drink to Lady Trevelyan. Despite the pain, he smiled as he remembered that night. It was the first real time they had spoken, and he knew the things she told him hadn't been spoken to anyone else in the Inquisition before. He shared some of it with the other leaders, but some he kept for himself.

He lifted the bottle and withdrew the cork. It brought him a small amount of happiness knowing the last lips to have touched the wine were hers, as silly as that seemed. He resolved to himself that drinking from the same wine was as close as he would ever dare to come to her lips. He threw back a swig of the drink, recorking it and slamming it down back in its place on the desk. As the room started to spin he made his way to his bed, crawling between the cool sheets. He drifted off content as he remembered how sweet the pillow had smelled that first night he had slept in his bed after her, wishing he could still breath it in.


End file.
